Of The Ocean
by Brinny2point0
Summary: Born and raised in Cork, Ireland, Dean Winchester is struggling to make ends meet. His luck, and possibly his life, is about to change when his nets drop an unexpected catch on deck. DISCLAIMER; the story is heavily based on the film 'Ondine' (starring Collin Farrell mumbling in an Irish accent), the plot of which I do not own. I also don't own the lovely characters.
1. Chapter 1

_I made a fanmix to go with this, so if you would like to listen whilst you read, you'll find a track for each chapter by following this link:_ _file/d/0BwEv4M2NCD_gcmxBNnViYWgzS28/view?usp=sharing  
Happy reading!_

* * *

Of The Ocean

Chapter One

It was 5 in the morning on a Thursday in November. The sea was lapping its heavy tongue against the docks that lined the coast of Castletownbere, Cork, Ireland. The rain was already battering the empty pavements, cascading over the gutters of the sleeping houses of the town. Farmers' whistles carried on the wind as they led their sheep out to graze on the slippery grass. Castletownbere was a small bay town, a place where everybody knew everyone. There wasn't much business, and not much money to be had, but the people were content. Dean Winchester was down at the docks untying his trawler boat to head out for the morning catch. He threw the line of thick rope on deck, and rushed over to the wheelhouse to guide his boat out to the ocean. He'd had a rough season, bringing in barely enough to keep himself fed, but this morning, as he did every single day, he prayed for a catch that could see his house fixed up, his fridge stocked, and his little brother Sam back in a newly done-up room. Dean ignored the feeling of his prayers falling on deaf ears.

Sam had been in Dean's care ever since their father passed away five years ago. He was only nine years old back then, and Dean had wondered how on earth this could be happening to him. He was meant to go to University. He wanted to be an engineer. He was good at that. But, when his father died in a boating accident, Dean was forced to take up the family business and abandon his dreams. The money soon started running out, and six months ago Dean had run almost completely dry. Sam was now staying with an old family friend, Bobby, until Dean could get back on his feet. The house was falling apart around the brothers, and Dean knew that he couldn't really keep his brother safe unless he fixed it up. If only Mother Nature would grant him a catch large enough to help things along.

Out on the rolling waves, the world was dark. The sky and sea were barely distinguishable from one another. It would have been a lie to say that Dean preferred this to a summer's day eating cockles on the beach, but it had been a long time since he could do that. No, this is what he was used to, it felt familiar, if a bit dreary. He lowered his net into the water, and walked across the deck to his bag, pulling out his thermos and pouring himself a small cup of black coffee. He reached into his bag once more and pulled out Henry Petroski's _Remaking the World._ This was the third of Petroski's books that Dean had read. He figured if he couldn't get a university education in Mechanical Engineering, he would simply have to teach himself. He often did some fix-ups on the other fisherman's boats, and would often dive right into the engines of cars for a fiver or a crate of beer. But reading about imagining, designing and building was far more rewarding for him. In the year after John, his father, died, Dean could feel intelligence slipping away from him; it something he knew he had but suddenly it was strangely unobtainable, as if it were beginning to be covered by a thin layer of glass. He stocked up on puzzle books from the local charity shop, and began picking up newspapers whenever he could. He had dreamed of winning some money for completing the puzzle pages in each issue, but, as with his father, words always seemed to fail him. No. Mathematics, engines, machines, they all made perfect sense. But, when did anyone ever say what they truly meant with words?

Dean started winding up the net, and almost dropped it right back in the water again. His net had very few fish to mention. What caught Dean's attention was an unconscious, naked man curled up amongst them. He hurried to the net to drag it overboard, chucking the fish into a big plastic storage box. He untangled the man from his net, and felt his neck carefully for a pulse. The man wasn't breathing, but he was fairly warm, considering he was in the freezing Celtic Sea so early in the morning. Dean leant down and gingerly pressed his lips against the man's, breathing long and deep into his lungs. He repeated this a few times, before kneeling up to press on the man's chest. 30 seconds felt like half an hour, but the man's eyes shot open; blue eyes, bright with panic. He gulped the morning air hungrily, and there was a rasping sound coming from his throat like his lungs were struggling. Every few breaths the man would fold over Dean's arm and wretch up sea water. Dean had to get him to a hospital.

"I… I… what…"

"Shh, what's your name?" Dean shouted over the panicked babble.

The man's eyes snapped up to Dean's, but his mouth said nothing.

Dean grabbed the man by his, now cold (shit, he was freezing) shoulders and forced all of his attention onto him. His eyes swam with confusion. Dean shrugged off his coat and draped it around his shoulders, and took a moment to swallow some of his own panic. _This guy really doesn't know what's happening…_

"I've just pulled you out of the sea. My name is Dean, you're on my boat now."

"Boat…?"

"I'm a fisherman." Why that was important information, Dean would never know.

"I think you need to see a doctor." He pressed.

The man's eyes flew even wider and he shook his head fervently.

"I don't want… to see-"

"You have to get help, man. I'm not qualified, I don't know what you need." It was very hard to keep the man's attention. His eyes flew about the boat, he chest was heaving, and he was still coughing up seawater every thirty seconds. Dean moved like a charmed snake to try and keep in his line of vision.

"I'm fine. I'm… I don't need… I'm fine." The man babbled. Dean steadied his breath for a while, and decided it would probably be best to get this guy warm. He was completely naked, and the wind was biting at Dean's back and making him shiver. Lord knows how this poor fellow felt. Dean lifted the man's right arm over his shoulders as he made to stand up.

"Let's stand up, come on." The man's legs were shaking, and he fell the first few times he tried to stand.

"That won't do, man, you've got to lean on me. Come on," Dean looped his arm around the man's naked waist and hoisted him up, supporting him much more this time. They hobbled over to the wheelhouse, which gave a little shelter from the elements. Dean fetched up a blanket and wrapped the shivering man in it. He had to get this guy to a hospital. He turned the wheel for the shore.

"Where are we going?" Murmured the man after ten minutes of intense silence.

"Back to the shore, I'll get someone to take a look at y-"

"I'm fine!" The man seemed to have got some strength back, and his voice was now ringing a little clearer. "I don't want to see anybody."

"Why not?"

"I just don't…" the man cast his gaze to his lap, and held it there, as if his whole future was written into the strands of the old plaid blanket.

"You're seeing me, aren't you?" Dean ventured, with a smile.

"Only you." The man whispered. Dean wasn't even sure if he'd heard him correctly.

This man was really adamant about not going to see a doctor, and Dean felt weird about forcing him to do something he didn't want to do. He changed course and instead of heading for the main dock, Dean sailed a little further West, along the coast, where the land jutted inwards. John, his father, had inherited a small cabin just inland from here, for long ventures out at sea. The tiny dock only had enough room to tie up Dean's trawler. He tried to ignore how utterly bizarre this whole situation was, and focused instead on getting this man warm and dry. He would figure out the details later. The sun was just starting to peer over the surface of the water, making it blindingly bright, as Dean pulled up to the private dock.

"I'll be right back, don't go anywhere." He said to the nameless man. Dean looked over his shoulder, to see that his companion was staring at the water, unflinching as the light danced on it. His breathing had slowed right down to a normal pace again, but he looked… well he looked like he didn't know who he was, or where he was, and like he'd been floating in the sea for lord knows how long. Dean left the wheelhouse and hefted the rope onto his shoulder to tie up the boat. Footsteps on the deck jogged his attention, as he finished up the knot.

"Dean?"

"That's me."

"Thank you… for saving me."

"It was a total accident," Dean blurted, "but… I guess you're welcome."

A small smile graced the man's lips, and Dean held out a hand to help him onto the dock. This guy, Dean noticed, was very lean, but he was also terribly thin. Dean assumed he probably needed all the physical assistance he could get. And he was right. The man's thin, muscular legs were collapsing from the effort of stepping off the deck. Dean ducked under the man's right arm and held the man's waist with his left arm. The cabin was a bit of an uphill trek from here. The further they went, the tighter Dean had to hold on, until the man's eyes began to droop, lips parted, his breathing heavy.

"We're almost there." Dean encouraged.

The small cabin was a little ramshackle, but it was homely. The outside was covered with white sliding, which once created a clean exterior. But, the paint was massively chipped, and climbing ivy had begun to grow up the far side. It was surrounded by a hip-high stone wall, with a small white gate that led up a sandy path to the front door, which was a varnished dark wood. Wild flowers grew all around in the tiny garden; which was hugely overgrown and untamed, but Dean found he sort of liked the chaos of it. Dean was pleased to see that the windows had remained in tact, so hopefully the cabin would offer enough protection to his, now almost unconscious, passenger. He set the man carefully down on the front doorstep whilst he rummaged in his pockets for his keys. Once he had found them, he lifted the man to his feet before opening the door.

The cabin smelt like dust and damp. Dean took a long, deep breath and took it all in. Underneath the smells of neglect, he could still detect the slight scent of home. He and Sam would come and spend time with his father here in the Summer, when business was particularly booming from the tourist trade. His father would be out fishing multiple times a day to supply enough fish for the seaside restaurants further inland. But he would always save something to bring back to the cabin for Dean and Sam. They would light the fire and drink steaming mugs of hot chocolate, laughing and playing until the early hours. There was only one bed in this cabin, so often Dean and Sam would create forts in the living area and tell each other ghost stories before falling asleep, full of fish and happy.

To the left was a modest kitchen, with three counters, covered in the same dark wood of the front door. The sink, which was starting to become thick with lime scale, looked out of a large window onto the dock, and to the sea beyond. There were a couple of cabinets above the counters, which Dean gingerly opened. He found a few mouse droppings and a thick layer of dust, but no food. In another cabinet were a few painted clay mugs and matching bowls. Dean turned around to find his mysterious companion asleep, curled up on an armchair. He saw a patchwork blanket slung over one of the sofas and took it outside to beat out some of the dust, before coming back inside and draping it over the man's body. Dean shuddered; the cabin wasn't as warm as he remembered it. Casting his eyes about the cozy living room, he found a pile of wood for the fireplace, and felt his face light up. He found a box of matches and firelighters in the drawer in the kitchen, and started to make a fire. Dean offered his calloused hands to the flames, and shivered as the heat banished the cold from his limbs. Dean remembered that this cabin was incredibly 'off-grid' with sudden clarity, and stood to check the house was in working order.

Dean picked his way through the overgrown plants, some coming up to tickle his armpits, to the back of the house. Here he found a large solar refrigerator, and the huge tank that made up the main part of the Thermocline tank cistern system, which collected rainwater in order to provide plumbing to the house. This particular system could provide hot and cold water, which Dean's father was always very proud of. Everything seemed to be working just fine. Dean raised his hands to the skies by way of a silent thank you to his lucky stars. There was a small shed attached to the house on the other side of the cistern. Dean pried open the door and found a huge pile of firewood and firelighters, and a large box of beeswax candles, with a number of clay candle holders. He brought that box back inside the cabin.

Soft snores were still coming from the arm chair, so Dean made his way to the stairs to check out the bathroom and bedroom. The floors were all natural wooden planks, old and worn with use. The stairs curved up to the landing, which was a narrow corridor. The windows all along the side showed views of the wild, rolling hills and further to the right, more views of the bay. Along the corridor to the left was the bathroom, which was in pretty poor order. Dean would have to get that cleaned up. The bath was an old copper structure, both ends were raised and there were handles on the sides. The toilet bowl was brown with disuse, but easily cleaned up with a bit of elbow grease. The mirror above the sink was sporting a hefty amount of black spots thanks to the cold of the last five years. At the other end of the narrow corridor was the bedroom, which only boasted a threadbare rug, a metal bedframe with a thin mattress and an old chest. Dean made his way over to the chest and lifted the top. Inside was a mess of old jumpers, thick trousers and socks. The smell was overwhelmingly familiar and brought tears to his eyes. _Dad._ He gruffly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and picked out a pair of woolen socks, a pair of thick trousers and a soft navy blue jumper for his guest. Dean returned to the living room, and placed the folded pile of clothes on the kitchen counter.

This situation was almost unbelievable. Dean couldn't stop replaying the moment he saw this young man in his fishing net. What happened to him? Who was he? What was Dean supposed to do? He needed to go back out to sea, but he also felt responsible for this man's wellbeing. He couldn't just leave him without any food in a dirty cabin…

He decided to scribble a short note and left it on the counter on top of the clothes before leaving.

 _Hello,_

 _I've gone out to see if I have any luck on the water today before the market opens. I'll be back with a few cleaning things and some food. The cabin doesn't have electricity, so if it starts to get dark there are some candles in the box by the sink. There is definitely cold water from the tank, but hot water might take slightly longer… sorry. I'll show you how to use the stove when I come back._

 _Dean_

It was 7 in the morning before Dean made it back out onto the water. His catch earnt him a measly £60 at the fishmongers. He was too late for the wholesale market, which is where the chefs from the surrounding restaurants would come and choose their stock for the day. Usually, he could earn a little more from them, but he probably would have been too embarrassed to present what he'd caught anyway. He pocketed the money, and made for home.


	2. Chapter 2

Of The Ocean

Chapter Two

Once at home, Dean collected a few cleaning products into a rucksack. His hand hesitated over a pile of cushions and duvet, before he stuffed them into a bin bag, along with some clean sheets. He packed a broom and dustpan and brush into the backseat of his car before setting out for the town. He parked and made his way to the local produce shop. As he looked up from the basket he was picking up, he came face to face with Bobby, life-long family friend and Sam's current guardian. Bobby seemed to get older without actually aging. He'd always looked exactly the same ever since Dean could remember; chequered flannel shirts in varying shades of blue, his shabby beige jacket, and a tattered old baseball cap. His face was framed by a shaggy beard, and deep lines and wrinkles patterned his forehead, but his eyes shone with a sharpness and a youth that seemed inexhaustible. Though gruff and devil-may-care on the outside, Bobby Singer was Dean's lifeline. At John Winchester's funeral, nobody saw Bobby cry. He gave a eulogy that touched every heart in Castletownbere's tiny church, but he never shed a tear. That was until he got home. Dean remembered that night so vividly; how Bobby ranted and raved and howled, whilst Dean tried to cover Sam's ears and bit back his own grief. Despite the overwhelming loss of his closest friend, Bobby raised the boys as best he could. Bobby ran a garage in his yard, and taught Dean everything he knew about engines and motors. Sam could always be found laboring over heavy old books that Bobby would help him to understand. The appearance of Ellen a few years later lifted a lot of the pressure from his shoulders, and the four of them relaxed comfortably into a family unit.

"Dean! How goes it, son?"

"Oh, you know, Bobby, same old shit, different day." Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck, "How's Sammy?"

"The little tike is growing bolder with every day, Dean. Ellen and I are kept awake by the sounds of his keyboard clacking away until three in the morning… we hardly see him. He stays holed up in his room, appears for food and takes it up with him."

"Into full-fledged teenage-mode then. Good to know. I'm sorry I can't be of more help, Bobby."

"You know that Sam is probably big enough to help you with the house repairs, right?"

"I'm earning next to nothing, Bobby. How am I supposed to buy supplies _and_ keep him fed and warm? You know that I am forever thankful to you guys. I will make it up to you, I promise."

"Well, try hurrying it up, Dean. I'm not sure how much of his attitude I can stomach." Bobby had this gift of saying mean things in a kind way. Dean knew this wasn't an ultimatum, and that Bobby would stick through this for however long he had to. But, the guilt still made him cringe inwardly.

"I'll work something out, Bobby. Let Sammy know I'll be around at the weekend. Take care of yourself. Oh, and give my love to Ellen."

"See you, Dean." Bobby left with a squeeze to Dean's shoulder.

Dean went around the shop, thinking about his little brother. He was growing more isolated, even from Dean. When he swung around to pick his brother up for the weekend, Sam used to be so excited, and would cry by the end of Sunday when he had to go back to Bobby's. But, now he was fourteen years old, and was angst-y as anything. Everything frustrated him, and if he wasn't frustrated then it was nigh on impossible to predict what he _was_ feeling from hour to hour. Dean was worried that this small seaside town was not enough for Sam. The simple life was enough for the two of them when they were children, but with the introduction of electricity and Internet to the majority of the town, Sam's world was becoming more and more cramped. Dean meant that literally as well as figuratively. Sam had hit growth spurts about once a year so far, and he was already up to Dean's shoulder. Soon, he'd be ducking to get through the doors in this town. Despite his sulky attitude and reluctance to communicate, Dean knew that Sam had a gift for words. He knew it because he envied it. Sam would always make up stories, would never fail to say exactly what someone needed to hear, he had a gift of voicing his own emotions, as well as reading those of others. Dean thought he might make a great lawyer some day. It broke his heart to see his younger brother disappearing into silence. But, what could he do?

Joanna Harvelle was on the cashier as Dean lugged his groceries over to her. She was Ellen's daughter from a previous marriage. Even if she was like family, Dean still noted how beautiful she was. Her blonde hair fell about her shoulders, and her smile lit up her honey-brown eyes in an irresistible sort of way. When she smiled, Dean automatically smiled too.

"Hey Dean," she chimed, "good catch this morning?"

"Abysmal, thanks." That earned an adorable pout from Jo.

"Oh, Dean, I'm sorry. That sucks. I'd hate to get up that early for nothing."

"Not for nothing," Dean cheered, "sixty quid!" he took out the notes and waved them about in mock jubilation.

"Alright, Dean, no need to flash the cash; nobody likes a bragger." Jo teased, "This is quite a lot of food, Dean… you got a date?" she waggled her eyebrows.

"Oh. No." Dean felt flustered. He wasn't sure if he should tell anyone about his secret hidden in the cabin. "I'm… um, planning a big dinner for when Sammy comes over this weekend."

"That's sweet, Dean. Not that he'll thank you for it." Jo rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, I bumped into Bobby earlier. He told me Sammy's been acting up."

"God, Dean, he's just so snappy. Saying 'hello' is enough to warrant a five minute rant on how he just wants to be left alone." For all her bravado about the situation with Sam, Dean could tell she was feeling hurt.

"He'll come round, Jo, you wait and see." Dean packed the last items into a fourth plastic bag.

"I'm sure. £30, please, Mr Winchester." She smiled, holding out her hand.

"Jo… I added it up it's easily-"

"Shh, Dean, just give me £30."

Dean huffed a short laugh, and handed her three ten pound notes, "Thanks, Jo. I really appreciate it."

"Every penny counts, right?" Jo smiled, "Take care of yourself, Dean. And get that house fixed up!"

"Working on it. See you."

Armed with food, cleaning products and bedding, Dean drove back to the Cabin. He couldn't shake his disbelief about this day. It wasn't even noon yet, and more had happened in these few hours than had happened in the last month for Dean. He pinched his forearm; _ouch, no, definitely felt that_. Not a dream then. _Christ._ What exactly was his plan here? Once his half-drowned damsel had rested up, what then? He needed to know more about the other man; did he have a family to return to? Where did he even come from? And what, for heavens sake, was he doing in the middle of the sea? Dean decided that at some point he'd have to tell Sam. Maybe this stranger could offer some relief for Sam's turbulent behaviour. Maybe he could offer some help for Dean, too. _Yeah, perfect,_ thought Dean, _'just saved you from the middle of the sea and all, but do you mind helping me build this fence? While you're here, Duck-Egg Blue or Mole's Breath for the kitchen?_ '

Dean brought a majority of his gifts to the cabin, and then belatedly forgot he didn't bring the keys back with him… they were still on the side. He peered in the window to the kitchen, and was met with an empty room. Dean cursed under his breath, and knocked loudly on the front door. Thankfully, he soon heard footsteps making their way speedily to the front door.

"Hey. I brought… things." Ventured Dean. He genuinely didn't yet know how to act around this man. He looked half-asleep. He must have made himself comfortable in bed.

"Oh. Yes. Of course. Come in." the smaller man stepped aside to let Dean past. Dean held up a pair of Marigolds, a couple of buckets and sponges, "I thought we could spruce this place up a bit."

"You don't have to do this for me." His companion said very quietly. Dean's brow bunched. He was absolutely right, of course. Dean could have simply dropped this man at the hospital against his wishes and left him to make his way on his own. Dean scrunched his eyes closed, and waved a hand in the air,

"No, I know. But I am. So…"

A silence enveloped them both, but after half a minute or so Dean couldn't handle it, so he left to get the rest of the stuff from the car. When he came back, the other man _(geez, I really need to find out what his name is.)_ was pulling on the trousers that Dean had laid out for him. He was _so thin._ His spine created a bumpy ridge along his back, and each rib was visible enough for Dean to count them accurately. The trousers slipped down his bony hips, and would have fallen down to pool about his feet had his skeletal fingers not caught them in time. Dean put the rest of the groceries down on the floor, "Do you need a hand?"

The shorter man laughed quietly, "Yes, it seems I do."

Dean undid his own belt and began threading it through the loops in the trousers, still attached to a very close body. Too close. Dean cleared his throat and straightened up, taking a few steps back, "Sorry, you can probably do that yourself." He laughed awkwardly, and picked up a bucket to fill it with water at the sink. Damn, this cabin was so small. There was no escape from the awkwardness he felt.

"You don't need to feel embarrassed, Dean. Thank you for the belt." A small voice came from over his shoulder. He turned and couldn't suppress the laugh that fell from his lips. The smaller man stood in his father's soft, dark blue jumper, but he looked more like a child than a man. The material hung off one of his shoulders, the sleeves hanging limply off his hands.

"What's funny?"

"Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. Those clothes are just a little too big for you."

The other man smiled and picked at the material absent-mindedly.

"I guess they are." He said with a small smile.

Dean shut off the tap and turned to face him, "I never caught your name, by the way."

The man's reaction was similar to the one he displayed on the boat. His eyes went wide and his mouth flapped awkwardly like a fish gasping for air.

"I, um…" he turned his gaze rigidly at the floor, whilst fiddling with his left sleeve, "I don't remember it."

"Shit, man, I'm sorry…" Dean shuffled his feet, not knowing what to do, "How do you like 'Tom'?" Dean looked up and his guest was smiling at him.

"You're very kind, Dean."

"I feel like Tom is too ordinary," Dean mused, "perhaps you're a 'Storm' or a 'Table' or whatever it is people are calling their kids these days… 'Ezra'… 'Warrior'…" This is what Dean did in serious situations. Here he was, trying to name a stranger 'Table' instead of trying to puzzle out what on earth could have happened to this man to make him forget his own name. But, it was working. The other man was laughing quite readily now.

"I'll have a think." He said, once he had stopped laughing.

"Good." Dean agreed, turning around and picking up the bucket from the sink and pouring some disinfectant into it.

"I thought we could start in here, what do you think?" he said, before plunging a sponge into the bucket and scrubbing at the counter in front of him. His companion wordlessly picked up the dustpan and brush and began sweeping out the dust and mouse droppings from the cabinets.

By late evening the kitchen and bathroom were almost spotless. The floors were all swept, and the cobwebs were banished from the corners. The cabin was now filled with lit beeswax candles that, combined with the homely fire downstairs, made everything around them seem to glow and shift. Dean had concocted a modest dinner of pasta and pesto, but his companion had shoveled it into his mouth without a word, and had shyly asked if there was any more. Luckily, Dean had catered for this eventuality, and the man ate three large bowls of it before he was satiated. Now, the other man was dusting around the meager collection of books on the shelf in the living room and the friendly silence that had settled comfortably between them was finally broken.

"What's this?" he asked, pulling an old book off of the shelf. Dean made his way over to him, and looked over his shoulder. It had no title on the front or the spine.  
"You know, I have absolutely no idea."

His helper sat on the floor and opened the book to inspect and gasped aloud. Dean raised his eyebrows. The book contained beautiful, detailed pictures, hand painted or so they seemed, and descriptions of heaven and its angels.

"Wow…" is all Dean could muster. The book was falling apart, it was obviously a very old family heirloom. He couldn't recall his father, or even his grandfather being particularly religious. Pages upon pages of beautiful figures passed before Dean's eyes, and he found himself captivated. The book was filled with old lore about angels from Christianity and Judaism tradition, including their ranks and roles. How had he not seen this book before?

"Look at this one." His guest said, pointing at a painting of a rather shy looking angel, with a mop of black hair. Dean chuckled quietly. "He looks a bit like you." He said, looking at the man beside him. Dean watched as the man trailed his hands down the painting.

"Castiel. That's his name." he murmured.

Dean cast his eyes down to the bottom of the page and smiled.

 _Angel of Thursday._

"Today _is_ Thursday." Dean offered.

"It's certainly obscure enough." The man agreed. He said the name aloud, trying it in his own mouth, "Castiel…"

"I like it."

"So do I." Castiel smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

Of The Ocean

Chapter 3

Castiel woke early the next morning, at first panicked by his unfamiliar surroundings. But, like a ship appearing through the fog, memories of the last twenty-four hours slowly came back to him. He smiled when he remembered Dean: the sweet, awkward fisherman who had saved his life. Dean had left fairly soon after the discovery of the dusty Angel-tome; Castiel guessed he had to be out on the water at dawn. Whilst alone in the cabin, Castiel had poured over the old book of Angels with mounting curiosity. He found himself wondering if he truly believed what he was reading: he didn't think so. But, the lore was wonderful and interesting, and he had woken up this morning on the sofa with the book laying open on his stomach. _Speaking of stomachs…_ His stomach rumbled, and felt hugely empty. Every muscle protested as he rose from the sofa and made his way upstairs. In the bathroom he splashed some cold water (the hot water was still a mystery that he'd have to ask Dean to explain) on his- _Wow, that's a lot of stubble-_ face and dried it on his jumper. He'd have to get some towels as well as some clothes his size. When he looked up in the mirror he let out a yelp of surprise. He looked so _thin._ He trailed his hands down his body and noticed his bones, clearly visible through the skin. _What happened to me?_ His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes were hooded, the skin around them dark. His black hair had grown into a shaggy mane, and was sticking up in all directions.

Castiel picked one of the clay mugs from the cupboard, and set to boiling some water on the stove for a cup of tea. He cradled the steaming mug in his bony hands and was soon lost in his thoughts. What now? He found himself wanting to make a list of things the cabin needed, but was that too presumptuous of him? Was he taking advantage of Dean's hospitality by assuming that he could stay as long as he liked? Almost definitely. Perhaps he could start sprucing up the cabin for Dean, as a thank you. He found himself smiling warmly at that. He had no memories of gardening or painting a house or fixing things, but he was sure he had done those things before. His memories were shrouded in the same peculiar mist that surrounded them when he awoke this morning; his identity, his family, friends, home… everything was hidden from him, and he didn't understand how or why this had happened. He'd thought of nothing else since Dean saved him from the freezing Celtic Sea, and always came to the same frustrating conclusion: _I can't remember anything._ Which was, of course, maddeningly unhelpful. He grabbed a hot cross bun from the cupboard, which was now stocked with a few goodies from Dean, and ate it in three quick bites.

He gulped down the remainder of his tea, and decided to explore the area. He hunted around for some shoes, but upon coming up empty, figured he'd just walk bare-foot instead. He realised that Dean had the only set of keys to the cabin, so he found a large stone and wedged it between the door and the frame before he left. Dead plants that grew across the sandy path to the tiny gate crunched beneath his feet. He closed the gate behind him, and headed downhill. The landscape was rocky and wild, and made Castiel feel quite small. Sweet smelling heather, lavender and myriad wild flowers peppered the rocks that framed the path. He saw a couple of wild rabbits scarper across his path, little white tails disappearing into burrows as quickly as they had appeared. The sun had only just appeared over the horizon; Castiel guessed it was about six o'clock in the morning. The ground steepened beneath his feet, and he found he had to hold on to handy rocky outcrops to avoid tumbling down to the dock. Seagulls were circling and squawking overhead, and the salt of the sea air made Castiel sigh contentedly.

When he'd finally made it to the stony shore, he felt a strong and unwavering compulsion to swim in the sea. He knew it would be freezing, and he tried to protest, but his fingers were already busily undoing the belt Dean had lent him. He tried to stop, but at that point his hands closed around the hem of his soft blue jumper, and he was racing, naked, towards the sea. As soon as he waded in, his muscles relaxed. The water wasn't too cold, to his surprise and once the water was chest-high, he found himself diving below the surface.

Dean fought the urge to call upon the cabin on the way back from the wholesalers but found he couldn't he was driving in that direction semi-automatically. He would just see if Castiel needed anything, and make sure he hadn't burnt the cabin down… maybe ask how he slept and if the cabin was warm enough and did he want to come into town- _shut up, Dean._

The car, a beaten-up Land Rover he'd inherited from John, trundled its way down the hidden path once more to stop just outside the cabin. His heart stopped; the door was wide open. He found himself shouting before he'd even got out of the car. He leapt out, and sprinted towards the front door. It was very clear that Castiel wasn't there. His heart had found itself again, and was beating heavily, as Dean ran down the path towards the dock. He lost his footing half a dozen times, but he ran on; terrified of the images that his panic-addled brain was producing.

Luckily, a mop of black hair broke the water at the end of the dock, and up clambered a- _geez, has this guy never heard of clothes?-_ very naked Castiel. He gave a friendly wave, and Dean huffed a breath he didn't know he was holding. He bent and picked up Castiel's discarded clothes, and met him half way along the dock, training his eyes on the horizon as he did so.

"Sorry, you're probably sick of seeing me naked now," Castiel laughed as he pulled his trousers on, the belt buckle clinking loudly. Dean cleared his throat and stared stead-fast at the surface of the water,

"S'okay." He mumbled, inwardly cringing. He tried to recover, "Good swim?" _Ugh._ He shook his head, suddenly remembering that it was November, quarter to seven in the morning, and Castiel was naked, "you're mad! You'll give yourself pneumonia!" _Oh my god, who are you, his mother?_

"It's not too bad," Castiel shrugged.

"Not too-" Dean knelt down on the dock and dipped his hand in the water, immediately snatching it back out again and hugging it to his chest. Castiel wasn't even shivering, his skin wasn't covered in goosebumps… _what the hell is going on?_

"You're crazy," he huffed once more, "let's get inside before you freeze."

Castiel seemed to have a lot more strength today, managing the climb just fine without Dean. He was happy to see that. He wondered if he should tell Castiel that he'd made a mental list of things that he might need to be more comfortable in that ramshackle cabin; that he'd imagined Castiel staying for a good while. _Probably a bit much…_

"Dean?" Castiel called from in front of him.

"That's usually what they call me," Dean replied, earning a quiet chuckle.

"I think the cabin needs a couple of supplies… some soap and towels… a toothbrush… loo roll… Do you think we could head into town today?"

Dean felt embarrassed. How had he not thought of those things?

"Of course! All of those things completely slipped my mind!"

"Dean, don't… you've done much more than you need to already… I'm sorry, that was rude."

"No, man, it's cool," It was then that Dean looked down and noticed Castiel's bare feet, "How are you walking bare foot on these rocks?! Are you superman? Be real with me now."

Castiel turned around and beamed a smile down to Dean, "No. No, I'm not Superman. I couldn't find any shoes in the cabin is all."

"Well, you can't go walking about the town with no shoes on. We'll call round to my house."

"Thank you, Dean. I promise I'll find a way of repaying you."

Dean waved a dismissal and smiled, "It's no trouble." But to be honest, Dean was slightly worried and already feeling guilty about the amount of money he wasn't spending on his home or Sam. He quickly pushed that thought to the back of his mind. He wanted to do right by Castiel; it wasn't like he was a permanent fixture in Dean's life. He'd probably be on his way in a few weeks. _If he can remember what 'his way' was._

More overwhelming emotions bombarded Dean as the car pulled up outside his modest home on the outskirts of town, this time in the form of embarrassment. He was ashamed at what he was living in. The outside paint was peeling something awful, the railing atop the knee-high wall was all rust and his front gate was hanging on for dear life by a single hinge. The path to his front door was missing over three-quarters of its tiles, presenting an unnecessary obstacle before even entering the house. Castiel lost his footing a couple of times, and Dean bit back the urge to claim the house didn't belong to him. Things didn't improve once inside, either.

The front door strongly protested being open at all; unfinished projects were Dean's speciality, and unfortunately they clogged up the entire front entrance.

"Are you sure we'll find a pair of shoes in here?" Castiel offered, laughing nervously. It just increased Dean's embarrassment, and he didn't reply. He knew where he kept his shoes… didn't he?

Dean lead the way down a narrow corridor, ignoring the front room to the left, which was full of paint pots, empty and full (almost every wall was semi-painted in different colours, as if Dean simply couldn't bear to make up his mind), planks of wood that would have been part of a garden shed for Sam if Dean could only master the skill of 'One Thing At a Time'. The kitchen, which was filled with unwashed dishes, pots and pans, was covered in a thin layer of grease and every surface was strewn with empty packets. It was safe to say Dean had somewhat spiraled out of control with this house. Castiel peered through the doorway to the kitchen, wrinkling his nose. He had no idea that Dean was in such disarray. He followed Dean upstairs, picking his way through various boxes of books and discarded clothes. The upper floor seemed a little more orderly, for which Castiel was thankful. Straight ahead was a cramped bathroom, with matching moss green bath, sink and toilet.

"I'm saving for a new bathroom suite." Dean commented quietly, following Castiel's gaze into his hideous bathroom. It was Castiel's turn not to answer. He couldn't believe that this house belonged to the man who had saved his life.

Up a few more stairs took Castiel to two bedrooms, both sporting a single bed, chest of drawers and a window. Both looked somewhat lived in, despite the mould that was climbing up the outside walls. That was strange… Castiel thought Dean lived alone.

"Why are there two bedrooms?" Castiel ventured.

"Oh. My younger brother Sam… he stays here sometimes." Dean could feel the blush rising up his neck. How could he let someone else stay in this mess?

"Sometimes? Where is he now?"

"He's at school. He lives with our adopted dad… Bobby, he lives at the other end of town. He'll move in when the house is ready."

"Dean…"

"I know. I know. This place, it's so overwhelming. And, I know that Sam hates it here, and I'm trying to fix it up for him, I really am. I was going to build a shed out back for him to be able to have some down time? Have a bookcase in there filled with all the shit he loves, and a desk so he can get away from me when he needs to. And, in the front room, I'm working on an entertainment unit, and the kitchen needs entirely re-doing, as does the bathroom, and the mould needs to be stripped out-"

"Dean!" At the sound of Castiel raising his voice, Dean stopped mid-thought.

"I was going to say… Look, what if I helped out with this?"

"I can't ask you to do that, Castiel. You don't owe me anythi-"

"Quite the contrary actually, Dean, I owe you my life." The shorter man asserted sternly.

"This is my mess…" Dean said quietly, suddenly unable to see anything more intoxicatingly interesting than his shoelace.

"Dean." Castiel pressed, his voice softer now, "Dean, look at me." Dean shook his head, not daring to open his mouth for fear of what would come spewing out of it. Castiel moved closer, and placed firm hands on Dean's shoulders, and Dean willed himself to keep it together. If he fell apart now, there was no chance of a come back. He'd be gone for good. Castiel's touch was reassuring though, and Dean chanced a glance at him.

"You don't have to face this alone. I'd like to help you. I was thinking about how to repay you, and I thought I'd help out at the cabin, but I would love to help get this place back to what it was."

There was a long silence, before Dean spoke, barely above a whisper; "I found out my dad had died at sea when I was in this house. I was standing in that doorway. Fuck, Cas, this was his. Ours…"

Castiel wordlessly tightened his grip on Dean's shoulders, and decided that this man needed someone to hold him more than he'd care to admit. He moved to enclose his arms around Dean's shoulders, gingerly at first, unsure how the other man would react. He needn't have worried. Dean's arms reflexively encircled Castiel, and before he knew where he was, Dean was crying on Castiel's shoulder. Huge, convulsive sobs that wracked his entire body. He gasped for air, his fingers scrabbled for purchase on his father's old jumper. His voice crooned in timbres he'd never heard from himself before. And Castiel, this absolute stranger, supported him, rubbed reassuring circles in between his shoulder blades, and most importantly didn't say anything. He didn't chide Dean for being a cry baby, he didn't laugh or call him a wuss. It was bliss. It was as if Dean had swallowed a boulder all of those years ago, and instead of digesting it, he carried it around everywhere he went. It wouldn't shift, wouldn't let up the pressure on his chest. It sat, an impartial reminder of what his life meant after such a tragedy. Now, it was as if Castiel had reached in and dislodged that boulder; Dean could feel it tumbling to his stomach, the pressure finally releasing.


	4. Chapter 4

Of The Ocean

Chapter Four

Castiel and Dean sat silent and still, on the narrow landing; so narrow that their feet had to settle on the opposite wall, level with their shoulders. Castiel hadn't known what to say, had battled, had prayed for something to say, but had come up blank. He was surprised at both the emotional turmoil that Dean was feeling, and at the time it took for his bravado to crumble about their feet.

Dean needed the silence. He had been knocked sideways by his sudden outburst. He hadn't cried like that since his father's funeral. Sure, he'd had a secret cry at engagement videos, or those videos about dogs being reunited with their Soldier owners. Who hadn't? But, this grief he felt had sat dormant within him for the last five years. Why did it choose now, in front of Castiel who didn't know him from Adam, to finally show itself? He was mortified. Dean prided himself on his ability to save face.

Something about Castiel seeing what he lived with had changed everything, he could see that, now. With Sam it was different. Sammy was family; he was either too young or he understood that this was Dean's coping mechanism, and never questioned it. Bobby and Ellen had never seen it. Dean wouldn't allow it. This house in all its chaos was a physical manifestation of Dean's mental state. It was so obvious now. He'd accidentally shown Castiel his entire hand, where usually he played his cards close to his chest. _What have I done?_ He pushed down the feeling of fear that was rising through his throat. He felt vulnerable, more vulnerable than he had ever felt, and he wasn't sure how to make that feeling go away.

Dean almost jumped out of his skin when Castiel's gravelly voice finally broke the silence.

"Hey," he nudged Dean gently with his shoulder, a friendly gesture that nearly set Dean crying again, "you okay now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." Dean cleared his throat, but still couldn't look at Castiel yet.

"Dean, I'm so sorry." Dean blinked hard and looked up at the ceiling, determined not to cry again.

"I'm making it worse aren't I?" Dean could only nod in response, but he felt the corners of his mouth pull into a slight smile.

"Let's get out of here, come on." Castiel linked his arm through Dean's and helped him to his feet. Dean huffed a laugh.  
"What?"

"This was the other way around yesterday." He smiled, his grass-green eyes beginning to shine through the fog once more. Castiel found himself grinning in return.

"Now, what about those shoes?"

* * *

The day had started out with sunshine, but now the sky was a dark foreboding grey; a storm was definitely brewing up there. It was just before midday by the time Dean and Castiel got into the main town, which wasn't really much of a town. There was one main street, with snickets and alleyways leading to tall, narrow houses. The main street was just off the coast, you couldn't see the sea but you could still smell the salt of it; a smell that made Castiel involuntarily close his eyes and caused his shoulders to droop into delicious relaxation. The buildings facing onto the street were all painted different colours; as if to somehow distract from the dismal weather conditions. By way of shops, the town boasted a measly selection. There were two charity shops, a chemist, a bookshop, a dinky produce shop that presented its fruits and vegetables on rickety tables outside, a pub that wreaked of stale smoke and ale and a larger shop dedicated to all things outdoors. Dean pointed at the latter,

"We'll find almost everything in there, I reckon. We'll get you some sturdy boots, ones that don't smell of fish." He grinned, pointing down to a very threadbare pair of boots that Dean had managed to find at the back of his wardrobe.

"Or let the water in." Castiel added.

Dean led Castiel into the store and picked up a few packs of thick woolen socks, and blushed as his hand hovered over the packs of male underwear. He cleared his throat,

"Maybe you should choose those." He mumbled. Castiel could only laugh at him, as he reached for a couple of packs of black briefs in his size.

"These will do fine, thank you, Dean." He teased, barely containing his laughter.

"Right then." Dean grumbled, quickly moving away with no destination in mind.

Dean made Castiel try on several pairs of itchy wool trousers, paired with many thick jumpers with high collars. From behind the curtain he could hear hushed voices and strained to listen:

"Go away, Jo, get back to work!" mumbled Dean. A woman's voice, clearly that friend who simply cannot whisper, replied:

"Dean, I'm not stupid, I saw you come in here with someone I've never seen! Who is he?"

"None of your damn business, Joanna Beth, now get lost!" Dean growled.

Castiel saw his moment, and quickly shrugged on the baggy jumper he'd been wearing, and picked up the least itchy pair of trousers and three jumpers before pulling back the curtain. Dean froze, his eyes wide, and Castiel fought once again not to laugh. This Joanna Beth was beautiful, she truly was. She stood proud, almost up to Dean's shoulder, but her presence made her seem taller. Her blonde hair was tied up in a low ponytail, and her blue eyes shone with curiosity.

"That's him!" she crowed, shoving Dean playfully, whilst he glowered in response.

"Hello…" Castiel ventured.

"Well go on, Dean, introduce us!" Jo loudly whispered. Castiel was sure half the shop had heard that.

"Cas, Jo, Jo, Cas." Dean mumbled. _That's the second time he's called me that,_ Castiel thought warmly. _I think I like it._

"Nice to meet you, Jo." Castiel said, offering his hand. Jo pushed it to one side and threw her arms about his neck.

"We don't do formalities 'round here, Cas," she chimed, "any friend of Dean's is a friend of mine! You're a pretty new one though, right? I haven't seen you before."

"Oh…" Castiel was unsure of how much to divuldge about how he and Dean had met. Jo stepped back and looked up expectantly at him.

"He's on a holiday," Dean offered, and Castiel had to resist letting out a sigh of relief, "He's… he's a penpal from London."

"Is he indeed?" Jo said, waggling her eyebrows at Dean, "How is Cork treating you so far, Cas?"

"It's pretty cold," Castiel replied, earning a generous laugh from Jo, "but it's… hard to describe actually. I like being close to the sea."

"Good thing your friend here's a fisherman then! Maybe he'll take you out on the trawler some time. He'd never take me," she pouted.

"Right, because you get sick as a dog on the waves," Dean laughed.

"How do you two know each other?" Castiel wondered.

"Oh, us? We go way back. My mum is married to his surrogate dad. We're the best of friends, aren't we Dean?" she said, linking her arm through Dean's.

"Sure we are," Dean said, a fake smile plastered on his face. When he looked up at Castiel, he shook his head, mouthing 'help me', earning another shove from Jo, "Right, bugger off, you, we've got things to do!" he chided.

"Oh, do I have to?" Jo whined.

"Yes. You got what you came for."

Jo's eyes found Cas', and she smiled warmly,

"It was really good to meet you, Cas. Maybe you can pop round for dinner some time during your stay?"

"I'd like that very much, Jo. Lovely to meet you."

"I work at the produce shop," she said, pointing behind her, "please come and save me from my boredom."

"I'll keep that in mind." Castiel smiled. He couldn't remember ever meeting someone so gregarious; her happiness was infectious.

"Right, I'm out. See you!" she cheered, with one final hug for the both of them before she left. The shop bell jingled, and suddenly the shop felt even emptier.

"Now, shoes!" Dean clapped Castiel on the shoulder and lead him to the footwear section.

* * *

Dean had paid for everything. Not that Castiel could do that himself; he hadn't a penny to his name, but he still felt bashful.

"Thank you, Dean, really," he said for the tenth time.

"Cas, I swear, you thank me one more time…"

"I'm sorry. I just don't know how I'll ever repay you."

"Stop it. You're welcome." Dean smiled.

They were passing by one of the charity shops when Dean stopped suddenly. Castiel almost bumped straight into the back of him.

"What?"

"Come here a sec." Dean said, ducking into the shop. Castiel followed.

Dean made a beeline for a selection of coats that smelled like moth balls and dust. He motioned to the first one on the rack; an old tan trench coat. He took it off the hanger and held it out to Castiel.

"Dean, no, you've done enough already."

Dean checked the price tag,

"It's marked as £3, Cas, will you just put it on? I think it'd look good on you."

Castiel slipped his arms through the sleeves, and, though a little baggy around… well, all of him, when he looked at himself in the mirror he found himself smiling.

"It's sort of awful isn't it?" he laughed. Dean smiled.

"I wouldn't say that. But, it's definitely you… I can't put my finger on why. It'll certainly keep you dry." He said, moving to take the coat off of Castiel.

Dean gave the cashier £10 and told her to keep the change before exiting with the sort-of-ugly trench coat. Castiel smiled sadly to himself. This man was so generous with everyone but himself. When Dean turned around to look at him though, Castiel couldn't help but grin. Somehow, in the last 36 hours, the two strangers had relaxed into a strangely easy companionship, and though he found himself unable to remember _anything_ , he could honestly say he'd never felt so comfortable so quickly. It was a good feeling.

"Dean, I just want to say tha-"

"NO!"

* * *

After dropping Cas back at the cabin, Dean got back into his car to pick up his brother from the school a few miles out of town. He was excited to see Sam again, he always was. He would take him to the cabin, and introduce him to Cas, and he would cook a slap up fish stew for the three of them, mum's recipe. He felt a pang as he remembered his mother. She had died too, when Sam was very young, no more than a year and a half. Dean found he could hardly picture her anymore, but he remembered her voice and her gentle nature. He hadn't thought about her in a long time… he hadn't really thought about much at all if he was truly honest with himself. It was like he'd been switched off since he lost John. Something about Cas' presence had gifted him an awakening of sorts. He was feeling again. It was overwhelming and frightening, but he felt he was up to the challenge after all these years.

The rain that had been threatening all day finally broke just as Dean pulled up to the school. The sound was the sort of familiar that makes you smile; Dean sat back in his seat and let his eyes close, taking this moment to breathe. Seeing Jo earlier had helped snap him out of whatever discomfort he was feeling around Cas. He could finally breathe properly again, and started to feel less self-conscious. Nobody had ever seen Dean break like that, except for Bobby and Sam. And he'd shown everything to a guy he'd known for less than two days. Part of him felt incredulous and embarrassed. But, another part of him was thankful that Cas was there. It was almost pleasant to know that someone knew that much of him, and still stuck around. _The guy has no money, Dean. He sticks around because he has no other choice._ Of course. Dean must stop assuming his relationship with Cas was more than it actually was. So much had happened in such a short space of time that Dean already felt he'd known Cas for years, despite knowing literally nothing about him. _Fine, ask him, but it won't make him stay. Once he's on his feet, he's gone._

The rain pounded against the roof of his car, the sound was so deafening that he couldn't hear the rapidly approaching footsteps outside. He let out a yell of surprise when he heard the passenger door open, but soon settled when a soaking wet Sam slammed the door behind him.

"Oh my god," he breathed heavily, "you'd think after 14 years of this place you might get used to the rain, but, Jesus, that's some storm."

"Good to see you too, Sammy-boy." Dean patted Sam's shoulder and instantly regretted it when his jacket squelched beneath his palm. "Let's get you home and dry."

"How's the house? Any progress?"

Dean sat quiet for a few moments, before turning to his sodden baby brother,

"We're not going to the house tonight, Sammy."

He drove straight for the cabin.


	5. Chapter 5

Of The Ocean

Chapter Five

 _There were voices, so many voices yelling all around him. The ground beneath his back lurched backwards, forwards, side to side, and the low-hanging lamp was swinging in wide circles, casting sinister shadows all around the packed-out room._

" _Yeah, but how do we know that, Jones?" echoed around and in his head, mimicking the swirling, tumbling feelings of his surroundings. He felt confused, bewildered, but most of all he felt frightened._

" _Just throw him overboard." Came another voice, attached to another blurred figure. He was being lifted, and then a few seconds later he was being dropped. He tumbled through the air for no more than a second, but it felt like an hour. The water was so cold, it took his breath away. He was sinking, gasping, but only water was coming in. His arms found their purpose and began pulling him through the water to the surface. Closer… closer…_

Cas woke with a start at the sound of pounding on the front door. He was sweating profusely, and his heart was thumping so heavily, he imagined he could see it beating through his skin. _What was that?_ He looked outside and saw Dean with a lanky, hooded boy beside him. _Shit,_ he thought, his senses finally coming back to him, allowing him to hear the moaning wind and the hammering rain upon the roof, _they must be freezing._ He ran over to the door and threw it open. Dean and his companion all but fell in the door, shivering and dripping. His head was still making him unsteady on his feet; he felt as if the whole cabin was tipping from side to side, as if it were dancing on the waves.

"Dean, who's this guy?"

Dean lowered his hood, "Sam, this is Castiel."

Sam shook off his hood too, revealing a mop of dark brown hair and large blue eyes. His face looked as though it could be warm and friendly, but his face betrayed how guarded he felt. "Cas…tiel? Okay…"

"It's nice to meet you, Sam. This must… seem a little odd."

"Yeah. Too right. You're a stranger and you're just living in my dad's cabin? What the hell?"

Cas took a step back, flinching slightly.

"Sam, Cas is my friend." Dean's voice hardened. "I put him up here."

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam's brow was lined with confusion; Cas wondered how much Dean might tell him.

"Look… maybe we should sit down for this." Dean said, gruffly motioning towards the couch.

"Would you like some tea?" Cas ventured timidly.

"You don't get to touch my dad's stuff! Get out!" Sam yelled, barreling towards Cas. Thankfully, Dean managed to throw an arm out in front of him, effectively protecting his friend. _That's what he called me._

"Cas, can you give us some time, please? I'm sorry about this."

"I… Sure, Dean. I'll, um… I'll be upstairs." He honestly couldn't get far enough away from Sam's hostility, but he wasn't about to face the storm currently raging outside.

* * *

Sam was livid. Dean could tell from his mouth, pinched into a thin line, from his furrowed brow, from his deliberate breathing.

"Sammy…"

"I can't believe you." Sam ground out.

"Please, let me explain."

"This cabin is everything, Dean. It's our best times with dad, it's our whole childhood and you just let a stranger in on that?"

"I didn't have much of a choice, Sam."

Sam stared resolutely at his hands, red from the cold. Dean got up and started a fire in the fireplace, before settling down next to Sam once more.

"Sam, I… he got caught in my net on Thursday morning."

"What?!"

"Just hear me out. He must have been floating on the surface and I'd just not noticed. He was naked and he was unconscious. I performed CPR," cue Sam sticking out his tongue in disgust; the thought of a man pressing his mouth to another man's in order to save his life was 'too gay', evidently, "and he came back. He doesn't remember anything, Sam. His name, where he came from, how he ended up there, all gone."

"Yeah, okay." Sam retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It's the truth, Sam! What, you think he just floats about naked in the Irish Sea of a Thursday morning, waiting for some fisherman to fish him out so he can compulsively lie about why he was there in the first place? Grow up, Sam, this is real."

He didn't have a reply for that, so Dean took a deep breath and lowered his head to his hands. He knew the whole situation would sound totally bizarre when said out loud… hell, it was the most bizarre situation he'd ever found himself in, but it was happening, and he needed Sam to know; mostly so that he might give Cas a chance.

"He didn't want to go to the hospital."

"You should have taken him there, Dean." Sam mumbled, but Dean pretended not to hear him.

"I felt weird forcing him to go, so my next thought was the cabin. He was frozen to the bone, and he has not an ounce to him, Sam, I'm serious. A strong wind would blow him away. He needed help, and I was the only one there who could give him any. I set him down here, he fell asleep. I brought some food for him and he helped me clean up the cabin. He's staying here, Sam, he's got nowhere else to go. He's a nice guy. I'm asking you to give him a chance."

Sam's eyebrows were closely knit, his mouth a hard line. There was a long silence before he actually spoke,

"Where did 'Castiel' come from?"

Dean smiled, remembering the intimacy of the night before; the flickering candles, the simmering fire, the two men, shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor, crouched over a mysterious book.

"It's um…" Dean cleared his throat, "It's an angel name."

Sam snorted.

"Shut up." Dean replied. Some of the tension had dissipated, and Sam's face had finally begun to relax.

"So, shall we give that meet and greet another go?"

"Fine." Sam relented quietly.

"Fine." Dean agreed, "Go on then."

* * *

Sam reluctantly made his way up the all-too-familiar staircase to the landing, where he found Castiel, perched on the edge of the bed. He could feel his jaw clenching at the awkwardness of it all. He just hated apologising for his hot-headed actions. Recently, Sam always felt fit to burst. There was a ball of tension right in the middle of his chest, that would grow larger with every passing second until the only way to stop it choking him was to lash out; no matter who he lashed out at. Once he'd done that, the ball would begin again. He just felt so angry. All the time. He was normally very good at saying exactly how he felt, but recently every emotion was too overwhelming for words. Everything annoyed him; school, his lack of friends, Bobby, Ellen, Dean… everyone in this poxy town. He couldn't control it, either. He searched for something that would help him feel comfortable, relaxed, but nothing worked. He'd even tried meditation and yoga, but the instructor's voice was so irritating that he ended up slamming his fist on his keyboard to stop the YouTube video and grabbing a pillow to scream into. So, being forced to admit that he was rude, and to actually say the words 'I'm sorry' was a really difficult pill to swallow. Luckily, he didn't have to speak first, as Castiel looked up at the sound of his footsteps reaching the top of the stairs.

"Hi…" Castiel offered meekly.

"Dean's told me everything." Sam said, motioning vaguely downstairs.

"Okay."

"And… well… I, uhh… I shouldn't have acted like I did." He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. When Castiel didn't reply, he cleared his throat and bit the bullet.

"I'm… sorry. For how I acted. And for what happened to you." He felt his shoulders drop instantly, and the ball in his chest lessened its pressure slightly. Castiel stood up and began to close the space between them, stopping in the doorway and holding out his hand. Sam sighed and took it, shaking it twice.

"It's forgotten." Castiel said quietly, smiling. Sam avoided eye contact, and huffed out a "Good." before turning around and quickly making his way downstairs back to Dean. Back to safety.

* * *

Castiel followed Sam, albeit at a much slower pace; Sam's long legs knew these uneven stairs from memory, but Cas found them treacherous. He found Dean rattling around in a cupboard, looking through the small collection of pots and pans.

"Hello, Dean."

He'd obviously taken his friend by surprise, because there was a _thump_ and an 'ow' that came from the cupboard before Dean rose to face him. He rubbed the back of his head, but he seemed more amused than annoyed to Castiel's relief.

"Hey. Just sent Sam outside to get some stuff from the refrigerator. Listen, I'm so sorry about earlier. I had absolutely no idea he would act like that."

"It's okay, Dean-"

"No, it's not. But, I told him what happened, what else can I do? I guess we wait until he sorts it out in his own head."

"How old is he?"

"Fourteen."

"Ah." That made perfect sense. Sam was mature enough to finally process the loss of his father, but not yet mature enough to be able to cope with his grief. It was the classic teenage act but turned up to 'full'. Castiel didn't have any memory of coping with teenage boys, _you can't remember anyth- Shut up!_ But he guessed Sam would need space, to be treated as an adult, and might want someone impartial to talk to about how he was feeling. _Maybe I can help_ , he thought. He started by lighting some candles.

* * *

Cas gave the brothers some space to be together, and sat in the armchair, curled around the Angel Book, eavesdropping on their conversations. Occasionally he offered to help, but Dean refused every time, saying that Cas needed all the rest he could get. Which was sort of true. His whole body was tired, but every time he fell asleep he was haunted with the same boat-rocking sensation, the same swinging ceiling light, the same voices voting to chuck him overboard. He shuddered and tried to put it out of his mind. Instead, he decided to concentrate whole-heartedly on the delicious smells coming from the kitchen.

"Alright, losers, grub's up." Dean announces, and there's a definite note of pride that Cas can't help but find a little bit adorable.

"Smells good, Dean" Cas responds, getting up to take a bowl of beautiful fresh fish surrounded by a steaming broth, thick with carrots, onions and celery "Didn't have you down as a cooking kind of man." He joked, and it would be a lie to say he didn't notice a slight blush flare up on Dean's cheeks. "It looks delicious, Dean, thank you."

"Bread's over there," Dean murmured, feeling a little bashful, "Help yourself."

At first, the three of them sitting on the sofa slurping stew was awkward. So awkward that Sam was curling his toes painfully tight. But, then the weather turned things up a notch, and gave them rumbling bursts of thunder and flashes of lightening to 'ooh' and 'ahh' over. Eventually, they fell into easy conversation. Castiel didn't say much, but for once it was nice to sit and actually take Dean in for the first time. He studied the other man's face with great interest; how his green eyes lit up when Sam made him laugh, his smile was generous and wide, and his laugh, god, his laugh was infectious. Cas had mostly tuned out of the conversation, but would automatically laugh whenever Dean did. He turned his attention to the younger brother, whose face was entirely different to what it was earlier. He had Dean's smile, all teeth and sincerity, and his blue eyes had softened entirely. There was calmness to Sam now, and Cas found himself smiling at that.

"Hey, Dean, do you remember the forts we used to build in here?" Sam had completely let down his guard, and was letting Cas see him for the excitable child that he really was. He was practically bouncing.

"Man, that's a throw back!"

"… Shall we build one?"

"Tonight?"

"Right now!"

Dean looked at Cas, who simply shrugged and said "Why not?"

Sam crowed in glee, and ran the empty bowls to the kitchen sink before surveying the living area. Dean and Cas joined him.

"We used to move the couch against that wall, right?" Sam pointed at the back wall.

"And then we'd close off the end with the armchair, that's right." Dean was beaming, and Cas couldn't help but join.

"Cas, help me with the cushions!" Sam said, grabbing Cas' arm and leading him to the middle of the room. Together they stripped the sofa and the armchair of their musty old cushions, whilst Dean began repositioning the furniture. Sam directed Cas as to where to lay the cushions, and Cas was more than happy to let him; feeling so relieved that Sam was slowly accepting him.

"I'm sure we used to stick a bedsheet to the wall above too…" Dean mused as he ventured upstairs.

"There were some battery-powered lights as well." Sam shouted up to him.

"Try in the candle box." Dean replied.

Castiel made his way over to the box by the door, and rooted through a huge collection of boxes of beeswax candles, before coming across a collection of fairy lights.

"That's them!" Sam said excitedly, "Sometimes we spent Christmas here." He elaborated.

"I hope they still work." Cas replied, trying to find the battery-boxes in a mess of tangled wires. Dean came flying down the stairs with a sheet bundled in his arms, which he threw to Sam.

"Here, Cas, let me help you with that. I'll take this end." Dean grabbed the last light of one set, and began to pull, "Ugh, it's stuck in there." He cursed, reaching in to untangle the middle of the ball of plastic lights.

"I got it, Dean, hang on, this can come out here… and then if I just-" his slender fingers brushed against Dean's, but neither man snatched their hands back. He saw Dean's head snap up in his peripheral vision, but refused to look at him. Instead, he worked around Dean's fingers, which seemed to have frozen, to unloop one set of lights from the other in Dean's hand. "There. Now try."

It took a few seconds for Dean's brain to register that Cas was speaking. He pulled gently, and his set of lights fell free. Cas' fingers made quick work of the other sets, but Dean couldn't seem to take his eyes away from those deft fingers...

"Dean, we need cellotape!" Sam broke his reverie just in time to stop it being overly weird, and Dean set off in search of tape, trying desperately not to address the quickening of his pulse.

Fifteen minutes later and all three of them were huddled in the fort, which was surprisingly comfortable. The various lights cast a warm glow on all of their faces and they fell into easy conversation once more. Sam began to yawn and eventually fell asleep with his head resting on Dean's knee.

"I feel like I should probably turn in, too." Castiel announced, barely concealing a yawn.

"Sure, Cas, I'll see you tomorrow."

Cas crawled towards the entrance to the fort, before turning around to face Dean once more, "Dean, do you mind if I join you on the boat tomorrow?"

Dean grinned, "You'll have to be up at 4."

"I can do that." Castiel returned the smile, "Goodnight, Dean."

"Night, Cas."


	6. Chapter 6

_Just a quick note from me, first off to thank you for your comments and for reading my drivel! Secondly, to apologise for the slow update; this chapter really fought me tooth and nail, but it's here now so, phew!_

* * *

Of The Ocean

Chapter Six

Dean found the fort comfortable for all of half an hour, but then Sam started stretching out and snoring loudly, and that was all he needed to ruin the nostalgia of the whole thing. He checked his watch; it had just gone midnight. He ran his calloused hands over his face and tried to decide what would make him more comfortable. His brain wouldn't stop wandering to the bed upstairs; would Cas mind if he snuck in? Probably. He still found himself crawling out of the fort and making his way upstairs in the pitch black, despite his misgivings, and a very loud voice in his head screaming _Yo, sorry, what the fuck are you doing?!_ There was a candle burning in the bedroom, the door to which was wide open. Dean stood in the doorway, unsure how to proceed with this ludicrous idea. The duvet was draped around Cas' bony hips, and Dean felt himself blush. His face, covered in a thick, dark stubble, was twitching; his thin brows were close-knit and Dean could see his eyes roving wildly through his eyelids. He ventured cautiously into the room, trying his best not to step on the loudest of the creaky floorboards. Cas' voice caused him to stop dead. The other man was mumbling something, and his breathing was becoming labored and heavy. Cas was whimpering.

 _Oh, Jesus._

But, the longer Dean listened, the more he realised that this was less of a soft-porn scenario, more 'holy shit I'm scared' situation. Cas began thrashing from side to side, almost shouting now. A thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead, neck and chest, and his hands balled the sheets into his fists.

"Cas," Dean called, just above a whisper, "Castiel" he asserted slightly louder. Cas' breathing was quickening, and Dean knew he had to wake the smaller man up. He walked around the bed, and sat gingerly on the edge. His hand hovered over the clammy skin of Cas' arm. God, he was so warm. His fingers are micro-seconds from contact before Castiel shoots upright, panting heavily. Dean snatches his hand back, and tries to still himself.

"Dean?" Cas' voice is deep and hoarse, but it's also tainted with a hint of fear.

"Are you okay? I heard you… I came to check on you." Dean lied. _I absolutely did not want to ask if I could share this bed with you._

"Shit, Dean, I'm sorry. Is Sam still asleep, did I wake him?"

"Yeah, no, don't… don't worry about him. Are you alright?"

Castiel's breathing had almost returned to normal again, but Dean burned with curiosity about what on earth he was dreaming about.

"You're okay, right?" he reiterated.

"I'm…" Castiel hesitated, running slim fingers through his mess of dark hair. He wondered how much he should tell Dean about the repeat of the dream he'd now had three times in a row.

"You can talk to me, Cas… if you want to." Dean pressed.

Castiel sighed, and wiped his face, "Thanks, Dean. But, I think I'm okay now."

"You sure?" Dean really wasn't convinced.

"Yes. Thank you, though." Cas tried a smile, but it felt awkward and strained. Dean noticed, even by candlelight, how the smile didn't reach his eyes. But, he chose to let it go.

"No worries, man. Try and get some sleep." He stood from the bed and made for the door.

"Thanks." Cas murmured, already feeling sleep take him over once more. Dean blew out the candle and went back downstairs again. _Right. No sleep for me then._ Dean grabbed his keys and headed out for a drive, he was feeling embarrassed about what had happened, and when Dean felt embarrassed he mostly ran away. He wasn't in his right mind, thinking of sharing a bed with a man he barely knew. A bed. He was thinking of sleeping next to another man. In a bed. Sure, the fort was super uncomfortable, but was it enough to warrant that? Something about Castiel made Dean feel completely transparent; soft, like putty. He found himself caring a whole lot more about Cas than he had for any other strangers he'd met in the past… Then again, he had met Cas in extreme circumstances. Nope. Too confusing. Dean hated being confused. He drove with the windows down, even though it was freezing. He had always enjoyed the smell of the rain on the grass, and that clean feeling of the air in the dead of night. He sighed heavily and headed for the hills.

* * *

Dean made sure that this time, when he tried to wake up Castiel at 4, he did it from the safe distance of the doorframe. He resolutely trained his eyes on the window and ignored any inclination to look at the body sprawled across the bed, snoring softly. _Nope. Uh-uh._

"Cas. Come on, buddy. Up and at 'em." Castiel didn't stir.

"Oh, come on." Dean cursed softly, moving into the room and poking Castiel at arm's length, "Cas. Stop sleeping."

"Mm?" a soft murmur from the bed allowed Dean to release the breath he was holding.

"Hey. Come on, sleepyhead."

"No." came the grumpy reply. Dean smiled.

"Hey, you said you wanted to come with me today. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Ten more minutes." Cas' gravelly voice was now being muffled by the pillow.

"Alright, ten minutes, that's all you get though." Chuckled Dean. He went downstairs and started up the stove. Wanting to wake Castiel up with a cup of tea wasn't peculiar, or out of sorts. Nope.

Thankfully he was granted the mercy of not seeing Cas sprawled, topless in bed for a third time, as the very man appeared downstairs, dressed- _thank God –_ a few minutes later.

"Morning, Dean." Cas whispered, aware of the snoring from the other side of the room, reminding him that Sam was still asleep.

"Hey." Dean whispered back, "Tea?"

"Please." He closed the distance between himself and Dean, "Dean, I'm sorry about last night… I really didn't mean to wake you."

"No worries, Cas. It wasn't your fault. You're fine now?"

"Seem to be." Cas smiled, and Dean felt himself respond in kind.

* * *

The men shrugged on their coats and slid on their shoes and headed out for the dock. The way down was much more treacherous in the dark than it had been in the morning light, and Castiel found himself trying to hold on to Dean for stability.

"Watch your step down here, this is where it gets steep." Dean warned, reaching around to grab Castiel's elbow to steady him.

The sea hissed and spat at the shore like an aggravated cat; _we might be in for a rough morning._

He helped Cas onto the boat from the dock, and told him to untie the rope, while he headed for the wheelhouse. This boat was everything to Dean, and Castiel made sure to be extra careful with untying it from the dock.

"Hey, Cas, it's not made of glass, man!" Dean called from the boathouse. Castiel smiled back, inwardly cursing himself for wasting Dean's time. The engine roared to life, and the boat sailed smoothly out of the dock, onto the ocean.

Once the boat was a good few miles from the shore, Dean cranked the lever to lower his nets into the restless water.

"Here's where we keep our fingers crossed." Dean murmured to nobody in particular. Castiel must have heard him though, because he held up his right hand, his second finger crossed over the middle, grinning.

"I've got a good feeling about today, Dean. I don't know, something tells me you'll get a good catch this morning." Cas said cheerily, turning back around to lean his arms on the rails.

"I hope you're right." Dean replied, leaning down to grab his book, which he hadn't touched since he'd rescued Castiel on Thursday. He got half way down the page when he noticed a low voice, singing softly. He looked up and saw Cas' mouth, hardly moving, but it was definitely him singing. He sat in silence, as Castiel's voice picked out a melody so haunting and simple that it sent shivers down Dean's arms. The language was unfamiliar to him, but it seemed as if Cas _remembered_ this song. His eyes were closed, and the wind was blowing through his hair; he looked angelic, in a peaceful sort of way. Dean marked his place in his book, and moved to stand next to Cas against the railings. The other man seemed to be oblivious to Dean's presence, so he tried to stand as quietly and as still as possible. This was the most peaceful Dean had seen his companion yet, and he didn't want to ruin that for him. He found his eyes slowly starting to close too, as Cas' voice took over everything else. There was no vibrato in his voice, and no real 'technique' or 'skill'; he obviously hadn't been trained, but Dean thought that it may well have been the most beautiful singing he had ever heard. He didn't want it to end.

"Dean!" Cas suddenly yelled, breaking Dean's reverie. His eyes snapped open, and followed Cas' outstretched arm to the water. At first, he didn't notice anything to feel excited about, but then he saw fins. Thousands of fins breaking the water, moving in the direction of Cas' voice.

"What's happening?!"

"I don't know, they just appeared out of nowhere. Dean, there must be thousands of them!"

"Oh my god…" Dean said under his breath.

"What?" Cas' blue eyes were wide with anticipation.

"They're swimming… towards you, Cas… what was that song you were singing?"

"I don't know… I… it just came out of my mouth."

"Do you remember it?"

"I don't know…" The fish were starting to swim in the opposite direction once more, and Dean grabbed Castiel's sleeve in a panicked daze.

"Come over to the nets! You've got to try singing it again!" He didn't wait for an answer and began dragging Castiel over to the back of the boat. He felt so stupid for thinking that this would work, but something in his gut told him it would.

Cas felt excited, afraid, surprised, confused, all at once, but when he looked at how Dean's eyes shone with anticipation, he knew he had to try to remember that song again. He closed his eyes, and felt through the fog of his mind, until he could feel the words of the song brushing against him; teasingly soft at first, and he tried to grip harder, but to no avail. Then he heard it. A woman's voice, singing the notes of the melody. It was faint at first, but it was all Cas needed. He felt his lips shape the words before he'd told them to; felt his voice effortlessly glide over the intervals of this song that, for some reason, was clearer than all of his other memories.

"Yes!" Dean's voice crowed, causing Cas' eyes to open once more. "Keep going, Cas! Louder!"

Castiel raised his voice, and saw with awe as Dean's nets were filled with thousands upon thousands of fish.

Dean moved towards the lever, and began trying to raise the nets. He grunted, and Cas didn't need any other hints. He went over and helped crank up the nets. Once the nets had broken the surface of the water, both men gasped aloud. The swollen nets were so full of activity that they were overflowing. There were fish falling out of the top and splashing back into the water. Castiel laughed, and looked at Dean, who was grinning ear to ear. They dumped the nets on deck, and suddenly the deck was no longer wood, but a vast expanse of flapping fins and slippery scales.

"Oh my god. Cas…" Dean was no longer grinning. His hand was over his mouth, and when Castiel looked over to his face, he saw the other man's eyes brimming with tears. He reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Cas, do you know what this means?" Dean said, his voice barely above a whisper. Castiel knew what this meant, but he didn't say anything. Dean crouched down, and Cas followed suit, as they began sorting fish and throwing them into different plastic containers. Dean stopped, and grabbed Castiel's arm tightly, "Thank you, Cas."

It was Cas' turn to start welling-up. He fixed his concentration back on to separating different types of fish, but couldn't help smiling.

"You're welcome, Dean."


	7. Chapter 7

_Me again! Thanks once more for your patience. I was swept up in this fluff-mess, and discarded it in favour of a more plot-driven chapter, but I just couldn't resist writing some sickening Christmas-fluff. You forgive me, right?_

* * *

Of The Ocean

Chapter Seven

After that first trip he took with Dean in November, Cas spent most mornings on the boat with him, bringing in huge catches that needed four trips to unload when they got to shore. When he wanted to sleep in, Dean let him, when he wanted to come with, hell, that was fine too. He hadn't planned on staying this long, but now that he was helping Dean collect his normal pay 100 times over, he couldn't see how he could leave. He still had a lot of making up to do, he'd be damned if he left before he could help Dean fix up his house. At first he had outright refused when Dean tried to give him 'his share', but every time he went on the boat, Dean would give him some of his earnings. It would certainly help when Christmas came.

They took weekly visits to the house and took on a room at a time. Cas helped Dean sort what he needed from what he didn't. The front door could actually open fully now, and the living room and kitchen were at least cleared of all the _stuff._ After every visit, Dean felt like he'd lost ten pounds of weight off his shoulders. He left that house feeling dizzy, and would always treat Cas to a cup of hot chocolate from the café in the next town over as a thank you. Extra marshmallows too; nothing says 'thank you' like extra marshmallows.

Christmas made a sudden appearance in that Dean had completely forgotten about it until 2 weeks prior he began receiving texts from Jo every morning;

 _Fourteen sleeps, Dean! Better have got me something good!_

 _Thirteen sleeps to go! What are you getting Cas?_

 _Nine sleeps, Dean. Seriously, have you thought about what you're getting Cas? What about Sam? WHAT ABOUT ME?_

 _Five sleeps. I'm not liking this silence, Dean. You'd better make it up to me with a new bottle of perfume. Oh wait, no, some expensive makeup. NO, A PONY._

 _Two sleeps. This isn't funny anymore, Dean. Go and get gifts! Do you need me to help you?_

Dean flipped his phone shut and grunted, running his hands over his face. He'd been puzzling about gifts, and had definitely saved enough to take a trip to a big shopping mall to get some good ones, but he just couldn't think of anything. Now it was the day before Christmas Eve, and he was sat in his car after dropping off that morning's catch. He flipped his phone back open again, and dialed Jo's number.

"Hello, Dean."

"Alright, alright, I need your help." He had to hold his phone away at arm's length to avoid the squeal that came out of the speaker.

"I'll swing by your place and pick you up-"

"No need, I'm at the store. I can see you!" Dean looked up and saw Jo waving across the road, "I'm sure Pamela won't mind me getting off early," Dean saw Jo cover the mouth-piece and shout over to the back of the store, nod, and then she said, "Right, I'm coming out!"

The morning of Christmas Day saw Dean and Cas driving to Bobby's to spend the day with the family. Castiel had white-knuckled it from the cabin, his fingers gripped tightly around his gift for Bobby and Ellen. Dean had let him have free reign over a lot of the supplies hidden in his house; this included a very large wooden box, which Castiel had used some wall paint to decorate, and had planted a large variation of herbs in it (lovingly decorated pegs marked each herb), all bought from Jo's shop of course; lemon-thyme, sweet basil, oregano, rosemary, parsley, sage and coriander all featured, filling Dean's car with their delicate scents. Dean thought it was an amazingly kind gesture, and he really hoped, for Castiel's sake, that Bobby and Ellen would make good use of it. Now Dean cast his eyes to his just-a-little-bit-nervous passenger.

"Hey, you doing okay?"

Castiel turned his wide eyes towards Dean, and grimaced.

"It's going to be fine, bud, don't worry."

Castiel nodded non-committedly and turned his eyes back to the road.

Dean was nervous too. He had bought some fairly 'un-Dean' gifts this year, and he had thought long and hard about each of them. Especially Cas'. Mercifully, he had not felt the urge to share the bed in the cabin with the other man since the last time. Unfortunately, Dean was starting to feel profoundly _bonded_ to Castiel. The two men had shared a lot, and it had brought Dean closer to him than any other human. It sounded bad, and he felt guilty for thinking it, but some things he would think twice about before sharing with Sam came flowing out of him when he was alone with Cas. The man _did things to him._ And, he had to admit, he wasn't _as bothered_ about it as he expected himself to be. He'd run away from these thoughts before, but now they were commonplace, and it was too exhausting to continue questioning why he was having them.

Ellen and Bobby's house was modest and remote. The house was situated on a private road, which acted as Bobby's garage; it was littered with bits of engine, skeletons of trucks. The closer you got to the house, the more pristine the cars became. The house was surrounded by a porch, which had fairy lights dangling from the eaves. The wind was bitingly cold as Dean got out to get his gifts out of the boot. He had signed each gift _'from Dean and Cas'_ without a second thought. Castiel didn't seem to mind, or if he did, he didn't mention it. Dean was absolutely dreadful at wrapping; each present was a ball of cellotape and off-cuts of wrapping paper. _There's a … certain charm about them… maybe._ Castiel clambered out of the passenger seat, shielding the plants from the worst of the wind as he jogged to the front door. Dean raised his fist to the door and pounded loudly, and continuously, which received a response from the other side to the tune of:

"For the love of God, give me a minute, idjit, elbow-deep inside the turkey. Ellen? Jo? Sam?! Balls."

Dean's eyes met Castiel's and both men were grinning.

"Okay, now I've sorted the gifts into piles; Cas, honey, I hope you don't mind, I've lumped yours with Dean's." Ellen squeezed Castiel's arm, fondly.

"You needn't have got me anything, Ellen, really, being here is enough."

"Nonsense! You've done so much for Dean, you deserve a little something."

Dean watched eagerly as Jo unwrapped her new bottle of perfume that she had hinted at in the shop, whilst he groaned when he pulled out a 'Ring for a kiss' bell out of her package to him. He also received a consultancy appointment to have his floors redone, and the damp to finally be sorted, courtesy of Bobby and Ellen. In return, Bobby got a 30 year aged bottle of Elijah Craig whiskey, and Ellen received a beautiful wine-red cashmere jumper. For Sam, Dean had simply wrapped a furniture catalogue (a bloody good one at that) and offered to pay for a new bed, double, now that he was almost 15. Sam got a bit teary at that, Dean saw, but excused himself to use the loo before anyone else noticed. It felt so good to be able to give to his family like this, and he never wanted it to end. He looked expectantly at Cas, "You going to open any of those?" he motioned at the pile at the man's feet.

Amongst Cas' gifts were a pair of wellington boots; bright yellow, from Jo, a moleskin notebook from Bobby and Ellen and a posh shaving kit from Sam (followed by a mumbled "two for one" accompanied by a smirk, when Dean opened the exact same gift.) Castiel couldn't help but feel so grateful to these people, and also couldn't stop himself giving each of them an uncomfortably long hug. There was a lump in his throat, which only got larger when he saw a bundle of cellotape and mismatched wrapping paper, which could only be a gift from Dean. He swallowed heavily and willed himself not to cry. Inside was a small but beautiful painting of a dark-haired angel looking down from the clouds. The clouds were beautiful, as if tainted by a sunset, and the angel's face was a picture of compassion and curiosity, it's expansive wings framed half of the picture with their dark feathers, that seemed to Cas like sunshine on petrol; dark but also full of colour. Cas covered his mouth; he _would not_ cry over a Christmas gift.

Dean nudged into Cas' shoulder with his knee and said quietly, "I don't know if it _is_ Castiel, but it certainly looks like you."

"Dean… it's… I don't know what to say. Thank you." Cas gushed, kneeling up to pull Dean into an awkwardly angled hug, given that Dean was perched on the edge of the sofa, whilst Cas was sat on the floor. Dean's arms tightened protectively around Cas' shoulders, whilst Cas began idly rubbing circles on the middle of Dean's back. There was a clearing of the throat from the other side of the room, and when the two men broke apart, Jo and Ellen were smirking, Sam was blushing and Bobby had already got up with a "Right" and had set about lighting the fire in the cosy living room.

"Actually, Bobby… I, um. I'm yet to give Dean and Sam their gift from me."

"Why does that mean I can't get the fire lit? I'm freezing over here."

"I know… it's just… the gift is at… It's at Dean's house."

The room fell silent.

"What did you leave it there for, idjit?" came Bobby's retort, earning him a sharp look from Ellen.

"Keep up, Bobby." She groaned, as she and the rest of the room made to get their shoes and coats on.

"Oh, right."

The drive back into town was a tense one, in which nobody spoke. Dean had not gone to the house in about a week, and had been very busy on the boat, but he had no idea that Cas might have been getting to the house on his own. He was restless as they drove up the narrow street where he'd lived all his life. His heart leapt into his throat, as it so often did these days, when he saw his house. Even in the dark, Dean could see that the entirety of the outside had been repainted, drains, window-panes and window-sills, the front door, the wall and the railings too. The gate had been fixed, and the complex pattern of paving stones was restored with new tiles, bright with colour.

The party slowly exited the car as if approaching a sleeping beast. None of them said a word, even when Cas asked Dean for the front door keys.

"There's something else I want to show you." He said quietly, leading the family through the house to the back garden, where Dean took another sharp intake of breath. Cas had built the shed.

"You did all of this yourself?" Dean whispered.

"With a lot of help." Cas replied, motioning towards Ellen.

"Now, stop that, Castiel, I hardly lifted a finger! Just helped paint the wall and the shed, the rest was all you."

Cas shrugged in response, and looked to the two brothers, who were both welling up. Sam was edging closer towards Dean, who bundled him up in his arms almost immediately. Castiel repressed a shriek when an arm appeared around his shoulders, pulling him in too. All Dean seemed to be able to say was 'Thank you' over and over, whilst Sam sobbed into his older brother's chest.

"Well, come on then, let's take a look-see!" cheered Bobby, earning a tearful laugh from the family.

Cold cuts and leftovers were crammed into sandwiches, with steaming cups of tea to wash them down. Bodies, full to bursting, were huddled in the little living room, mostly taken up by the huge tree, adorned with lights and decorations that Dean said were made by Sam and him when they were still in school. Bobby and Ellen were snoring quietly on the sofa, Ellen curled up against his chest, one of Bobby's arms slung protectively over her shoulders. Jo and Sam were making yet more sandwiches in the kitchen. Dean and Castiel were on the other sofa, half watching, half dozing along to the millionth re-run of 'The Best of Morecambe and Wise'. They had fallen into another of their comfortable silences, and Dean was delighted to find that when he stretched out his legs, Castiel had grabbed his shins and pulled Dean's feet onto his lap without even looking. Dean wiggled his toes to get Cas' attention, which he won in a matter of seconds.

"Hey." He said quietly.

"Hello, Dean." Cas replied.

"Thanks again, man. For everything. Today has been… it's been great."

"You're welcome, Dean. I… I told you I would try everything I could to repay you."

Dean smiled. A sudden thought came into his head, and he wasn't sure if it was the fire making him feel warm and fuzzy, or the lights that put everything in a hazy sort of glow, but he felt like he needed to act on that thought immediately. He reached down and picked up the bell that Jo had bought for him, and rang it softly. At first, Castiel laughed, not fully understanding, but then Dean turned the bell around, so he could see the swirling, flirtatious writing scrawled upon the front: _Ring for a Kiss._ Cas' eyes found Dean's, that weren't only swimming with the warm lights from the room, but also something like anticipation… nervousness. He swallowed and winced as it sounded amplified in the enclosed space. He began to lean forwards ever so slightly, but at that moment the warmth from Dean's legs left him, and the other man stood up, rubbing the back of his neck; an awkward tick that Castiel had always found endearing. Cas sat back against the cushions, as Dean huffed a short laugh that didn't sound like he even believed it.

"I, um. I'm going to bed. I don't… I don't feel so good. Night, Cas." And with that, he left the room.

"Goodnight, Dean."


	8. Chapter 8

_Guys! I'm so so sorry for the delay in updating this; I've been moving my life to the other end of the country and starting a Masters degree, so I've been incredibly snowed under with things to sort out/get used to/freak out about, so sorry sorry sorry! Please do continue to expect a slower update speed from now on, though, as I will be incredibly busy with my course until Christmas break. Love you guys, thanks for sticking with me!_

* * *

Of The Ocean

Chapter Eight

Sam could boast a whole host of personality traits, but stupidity was not among them. He could tell ever since Christmas day that something was wrong with his brother. Dean wasn't cracking as many awful jokes, he was waking up later than usual, he was actually being _quiet_ , and absent for long periods of time. Sam had sworn he'd witnessed his brother _reading_. Like, an actual book, rather than those boring engineering books he usually carried around. Dean would spend hours and hours in the yard, claiming to be doing Bobby a favour by diving under umpteen broken-down cars every day. And during meal times, Dean wouldn't make eye contact with _anyone_ and made very little effort even to grunt a response. _There's only room for one angst-y teenager in this house, and he's hogging the spotlight._

* * *

Dean was _not_ avoiding his problems. Nope. Not at all. He was _not feeling a single ounce of awkward._ He was finally getting around to reading those novels that people always say you should read, the ones that change people's lives. He was getting a whole heap of work off of Bobby's shoulders. He didn't have much to say, wasn't feeling particularly joke-y, but that didn't mean there was something wrong. Because there absolutely wasn't.

* * *

There was absolutely something wrong with Dean, Cas didn't need any more than ten brain cells to see that. Every time Dean's eyes flitted away from him, Cas wanted to vomit. Or throw something at Dean. Or bury himself under a tonne of cushions and pretend the world didn't exist. What happened on Christmas Day… or rather, what didn't happen but almost might have possibly maybe happened… Castiel couldn't explain it. He had felt in that moment like his was suffocating; his whole body was being pulled towards Dean instinctually. He had wanted to be closer in that moment… had wanted… Whatever he'd wanted, it didn't matter now, because Dean had not spoken a single word to him since. Castiel's very skin itched, his fingers twitched, his mind was bewitched in the sort of all-consuming way that one suffers when one realises that whatever they're feeling, it's strong. He couldn't be sure what that feeling was, of course; he and Dean had spent every day together since they'd met, and what he was feeling _could_ just be a deep affection that could be expected to develop between a person and their savior. Having said that, Cas would by lying if he said he hadn't spent quiet moments with Dean marveling at the dark fan of the other man's eyelashes; wondered what they might feel like against his cheek, or counted the freckles that spread over his cheekbones, trying to find any sort of pattern in them. Though he was confused by the whole thing, Castiel could say with absolute certainty that he was definitely feeling _something_ for Dean Winchester.

Ellen sighed into her third cup of tea, gazing hopelessly out of the window at Dean's legs, just visible beneath the first car of the day. Upon hearing footsteps behind her, she turned to see Castiel making his way towards the kettle.

"Castiel, honey, what is going on? That's four days now, since you boys spoke to one another."

Castiel didn't answer, opting instead to flip on the kettle, and finish up where she left off; staring forlornly out of the window.

"Cas. Come on, this is getting ridiculous. What happened between you two?"

"Ellen… It's-"

"Actually, save it. Just go out there and talk to him. Please. Lord knows, our sanity depends on it."

* * *

"Dean."

"Dammit." Came the growled response, following a bang from beneath the car.

Jo stood at the hood, tapping her toe impatiently, as Dean emerged, "What is it?"

"I think you know."

"No, Jo, I don't want to talk about it, just leave me alone."

"No, I won't, Dean. You are driving this house crazy for no obvious reason. You haven't spoken to Cas in four days now, let alone anyone else. Tell me what's up. Now."

Dean sat up and sighed, "Is there beer?"

"It's 10 in the morning, Dean, no there isn't."

"Always worth checking…"

"Please stop avoiding the subject, Dean, this is serious."

Dean schooled his thoughts, and stood up to lean against the door of the car. He rubbed the back of his neck, and tried to work up the courage to actually admit what had happened that night.

"I… Jesus, Jo, I don't know."

"Hey," Jo made her way round to the side of the car to stand beside him, placing her hand fondly on his forearm, "Dean, you can tell me anything, you know that. I won't tell anybody, and there's no judgment here. Did you… did something happen with Cas?"

Dean scuffed the ground with his boot, in a noncommittal answer.

"What happened?"

"I… Christ, I'm so embarrassed."

"Did you try to kiss him?"

Dean's head near snapped off his neck as he turned to look at her, his surprise completely obvious. How had Jo known? Had she seen them?

"He didn't respond?" No then.

"He… I… it doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does, Dean. I've never seen you like this about anything, or anyone. You got it bad, huh?"

"Got what? Oh, Jo, don't-"

"You _like_ him."

"No, I do not." Dean ground out.

"Sure. Okay. You keep telling yourself that if it helps… between you and me, it's not."

"What do I do?" he murmured, "I can't take back what I did."

"Did Cas look upset? Grossed out?"

"No… he…"

"Oh my god, Dean, you're officially the dumbest person I know."

"What?"

"He leant in and you chickened out, and you're _embarrassed_ about it? How do you think he feels?"

"I-"

"You've ignored him, avoided him for four days because _he_ wanted to kiss _you?"_ Jo gave Dean's arm a hefty thwack.

"It's just… I'm having a hard time of understanding my feelings right now, Jo."

"What's difficult about it, Dean? You like him, and he likes you-"

"But he's... I'm…"

"Dean, come on."

"What? It's not as if I've had this type of thing for a guy before, Jo."

"What does that matter?"

"I'm just… I'm freaking out."

Jo softened her approach, and moved to stand in front of Dean, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"Dean, look. It's scary, I'll give you that. But, did you think for one second that Cas might be feeling the exact same way? Not talking about it won't make it go away."

"Worth a shot…"

"Dean, stop being a child. Go and talk to him." Dean's shoulders heaved under her hands, "Do you want to practice here?" she offered, earning her a snort.

"Thanks, Jo."

"It's going to be okay, Dean. Honestly."

"Christ, I hope you're right." Dean said, cleaning his hands with a towel, and chucking it over his shoulder.

* * *

"Cas, I'm sure you're both in the same boat on this. As long as I've known him, well… Dean isn't one for confronting his feelings. I'm sure all he's been doing is sitting on this, mulling it over… getting frustrated. What's happening now is no different to what would be happening if he tried to talk to you about it. Give him time. He'll come round, you'll see." Ellen soothed, throwing an arm around Castiel's shoulders. He felt a glow of warmth growing in his chest, and he leaned into her with a small smile.

"Has he ever…"

"Been with a guy before? No. But, between you and me, Bobby and I, even John, his father, had suspicions. He brought girls home all the time, sure, but they never stuck around. Hell, I don't remember ever seeing Dean in an actual functioning relationship."

"That's surprising…"

"Are we talking about the same person here?" Ellen laughed, "I'll tell you what is surprising though, and that is how quickly he took to you, sugar." She nudged him gently in the side. Castiel felt his cheeks flush. "Oh yeah, he's got it bad, alright."

The clearing of a throat brought the pair's attention to the doorway, where Dean was stood, covered in car grease and looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Ellen… Can I-"

"Say no more, I'm out." Ellen squeezed Castiel's arm reassuringly before leaving him alone with Dean for the first time this week.

"Hello, Dean." He said, when the silence became unbearable.

"Hi." Dean replied, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a flush rising up his neck, and Cas found himself predicting that he would rub the back of it any second; no sooner had he thought it did he see Dean do it. He inwardly kicked himself for letting himself fall so hard and so fast for the other man. He couldn't even pinpoint the moment when it had happened; when Dean's eyes had lit up at the sight of Castiel's gift? When he had thrown his head back and crowed after that first mammoth catch? Was it the moment when Dean broke down, or the moment when he regained composure and spent all of his money on Cas in a single afternoon? Was it when Dean had looked at him with those soft eyes of his just after deciding to call him Castiel? He wasn't sure he would ever know, but it's sheer inevitability was undeniable, and he just _had_ to let Dean know that somehow.

"I-"

"Liste-"

"Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, Dean… go on."

"No, you go."

"Dean, please."

"Sorry."

"Cas, I'm… I'm really sorry about all of this. I've been acting like a dumb kid."

"It's okay, Dean… really, it is."

"No, it's not. I can't explain what happened that night, Cas. I've been really trying, but I can't. So, I'd rather just forget it ever happened." Saying it felt like a knife twisting in his stomach, but seeing Castiel smile in relief made it slightly better. What did Jo know about how Cas was feeling? Obviously, he was creeped out by the whole thing, and was frankly ecstatic to be given a chance to forget about it. Dean saw that clear as day. His own feelings would solve themselves given time; this was some peculiar sort of phase that he was just very late in experiencing. It honestly didn't matter a jot that Dean's hands longed to run themselves through Castiel's hair, or that the other man's lips looked so _God damn inviting._ He wanted to be Castiel's friend and loved to spend time with him; these feelings he was having may well just be friendly affection. Afterall, he didn't exactly meet Castiel in the most normal of circumstances.

"Of course, Dean, if that's what you would like, then I'll happily forget what happened." Even though his head was screaming _I don't want to forget, I don't!_ Castiel had no choice now. Perhaps he'd overthought his relationship with Dean… imagined the stolen glances and the lingering ones, and simply felt more for Dean than Dean felt for him. His heart clenched inside his chest, and Castiel could feel a lump forming in his throat, but he made sure he plastered on a friendly smile. _For Dean_ he repeated to himself.

"Thank God." Dean laughed, moving further into the kitchen and over to the kettle, "You know, I've been wondering what on earth I was even drinking that night. Totally crazy. I must have been out of it," _I wasn't,_ "I'm sorry if I freaked you out."

Castiel swallowed past the now concrete lump in his throat, "You didn't, don't worry. Excuse me." He forced himself not to sprint out of the kitchen, as tears fell freely from his eyes. He hadn't given any thought to the fact that Dean _didn't want this_ , but now that he was… well it hurt physically. He hadn't considered what he felt for Dean to be something that was unnatural, or something to be _freaked out_ about. Had Dean been joking, and subsequently avoiding him because Cas was actually willing to kiss him? What he'd done hadn't _felt_ wrong, but maybe it was? His mind was suddenly the last place he wanted to be; on top of the confusion he felt about his past and the perplexing dream that was still visiting him most nights, he now had this new crisis to navigate. He felt sick to his stomach, his tears were hurling themselves down his neck and he was finding it hard to breathe. Once out in the front yard, amongst the scrap metal and skeletons of cars, Castiel sunk to the ground, hugging his knees into his chest, and tried his hardest to muffle his sobs.


	9. Chapter 9

_Hello, me again; we have to stop meeting like this. Just a quick word to say here's an extra-long chapter for you! Thank you for your patience and continuing support! Love you all :)_

Of The Ocean

Chapter Nine

Castiel heard footsteps fast approaching, crunching on the gravel-strewn ground, and he hastily wiped his eyes with the sleeve of the ugly-lovely trench coat Dean had bought him all those weeks ago. He looked up to see if he could find the source, and jumped to his feet when he saw Sam with an unlit cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. He called Sam's name, which caused the young bean-pole of a boy to stiffen, and turn towards him, eyes wide. He quickly hid the cigarette behind his back and smiled wide, in an attempt to appear innocent.

"Sam, I saw the cigarette, don't kid yourself." Castiel teased, walking towards him.

"Dammit. You're not going to tell anyone are you? It's just… I'm not sure if I even like them very much, but all the kids at school are doing it when we go to the under 18s nights in Cork, and I didn't want to… I just want-"

"Your secret's safe with me, Sam, don't worry." Cas smiled, patting Sam's shoulder affectionately, which relaxed under his touch.

"Thanks. What are you doing out here anyway?"

Castiel sighed. He wasn't sure if it was his place to tell Sam what had been happening between him and Dean… _Screw it._ He needed someone to talk to, and Sam was the only one here.

"Can I have a cig first?"

Sam grinned, moving to sit on the ground out of view of the house.

* * *

Castiel had choked on his first drag, to Sam's delight, but found himself weirdly enjoying the sweet, smoke-y taste it left in his mouth as he stubbed it out on the ground beside him.

"Where did you even get these, Sam? You're not old enough to buy them."

"Oh, this kid at my school, Benny, he sells them behind the bike shed."

"Wow, quite the entrepreneur."

"So, did Dean really… I never knew he was into that…"

"I'm not sure that he is. It's all a bit complicated, I think."

"He shouldn't have said that whole 'freaking out' thing though… being gay isn't something to be freaked out about."

"It is if you're only just discovering it, I guess."

"Have you always been… I mean…"

Castiel raised his eyes to the darkening clouds above, and tried, desperately, to remember anything about his romantic past, but came up blank, as usual.

"I honestly can't remember… but I do feel somewhat drawn to him. I _am_ attracted to him in that way…"

Sam made a face, and Castiel could only laugh at him.

"Sorry, I don't mean… It's not… I'm not disgusted by it or anything, but he's my _brother._ All stuff like that involving him is gross."

Castiel could only smile at that.

"What about you? Any girls or guys in your life?"

Sam sighed and stubbed out his own cigarette.

"There is this one girl in my class… Jess. She's gorgeous. And funny and talented and kind… she doesn't know who I am though."

Castiel felt his eyebrows raise.

"I had no idea."

"I don't really talk about it, because it's not like it's ever going to change. I'll never be able to talk to her."

"What? She doesn't speak English?" Cas teased.

"You know what I mean."

"Why can't you talk to her?"

"What do I say?! As far as I know we have basically nothing in common, we don't hang out with the same people, and she's far cooler than I am." Sam looked so downtrodden, that Cas felt the impulse to throw an arm about his shoulders.

"By whose standards?"

"What?"

"Whose standards say that she's cooler than you?"

"Oh, everyone's." he shrugged glumly.

"Well, I think you're cool."

Sam huffed a laugh, and leant into Cas' side, "Thanks, Cas, but you don't go to my school…"

"Well, what does this Jess girl do? Is there something that you can do too that'll bring you guys together?"

"She swims for the team in the next town over…"

"Great!"

"But I can't swim, so that's out."

"You can always learn."

Sam raised a quizzical brow, "Right, sure. And look like a total loser by being the oldest person in the beginners class by nine years. That'll really win her over."

"I could teach you."

"Right, okay, Cas."

"I'm a very good swimmer!" Cas retorted, feigning offense.

"I didn't mean that, sorry. It's just, it's not like we have our own pool to practice in."

"On the contrary! What about in the bay down by the hut?"

"You want to teach me to swim in the sea?"

"Oh, don't look so scared, Sam. The waves are very minimal there, there'll be nobody around, and I've only seen a handful of man-eating sharks…"

Sam tensed, but relaxed again when Castiel started laughing.

"The biggest animal you'd encounter in that bay is a seal, Sam, it'll be fine. What do you say? I teach you how to swim, we enter you into Jess' team and then you'll have lots of opportunities to speak to her."

"While I'm half-naked in a swimming cap? Sure."

"I'm sure you'd look adorable in a swimming cap." Castiel laughed. Sam smiled in return and held out his hand to Cas, "Deal."

"It's a date." Cas smiled back, "Come on, let's get inside, I think it'll start raining soon." He said, making to stand up. Sam stood up beside him, and nudged his arm,

"Hey Cas?"

Castiel hummed a questioning response.

"Thanks… for not telling everyone about the cigarettes… and being so cool about all this… offering to help and that. I really appreciate it."

Castiel just offered another smile, which rang true from his very heart. He got the feeling that Sam had a less than desirable reputation in the Singer household, but he was a truly sweet kid with a lot of angst, and nobody to listen to him, that was all. He reached between them to ruffle Sam's hair, which caused the young boy to scrunch up his nose in embarrassment,

"Any time, Sam."

Sam moved to dodge Castiel's hand, and tried to sort out his crop of long, thick hair.

"Oh, and Cas? Don't worry about Dean… he's a bit emotionally constipated is all. I'm almost certain he doesn't want to forget what happened any more than you do. He's just scared, and won't ever admit that. He'll come around, I promise." Sam produced a packet of chewing gum from his pocket and offered one to Cas, with a shy smile. Cas clapped him on the shoulder after taking a piece and popping it in his mouth. They made their way back to the house, "I hope you're right, Sam."

* * *

"Okay, Rufus. Yes, Rufus… No, Rufus… Yes, we'll be there, Rufus… Shut your trap, idjit, I said we'd go." Bobby's gruff voice came floating through the house as Sam and Cas came inside. The receiver was slammed against the wall, and a slightly ruffled Bobby appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"You okay, Bobby?" Sam asked. Bobby frowned, deepening the lines in his face.

"We're going to Rufus' barn dance on New Year's Eve."

Dean's voice sounded from the living room at the same time as Sam: "Bobby, no!"

"Shut it, we're going."

"Bobby, please, why? You hate dancing. _I_ hate dancing. _We all hate dancing_."

Castiel lifted his hand a little, "I don't mind dancing."

"Oh, well you can go then, Cas. Send our love, will you?" Sam said irritably.

"Sam, there's no compromise here. Rufus hasn't seen you boys in so long; we've missed the last five new year's eve parties, we owe him. So we'll get our plaid shirts on, complete with cowboy boots and we'll damn well be happy about it. End of discussion." Bobby stomped into the living room, and Sam stalked upstairs to his room. Cas found himself all alone in the hallway, not knowing which way to turn.

"Cas, if you're out there, can you get a couple of beers from the fridge?" Dean called. Castiel glanced at the clock: "It's only 2 o'clock, Dean."

"Get off my ass, Cas, it's five o'clock somewhere." Castiel smiled sadly, grabbed three beers, and made his way to the living room. _Just act casual… for Dean._

* * *

Rufus' barn was situated on top of a very steep hill on the outskirts of Castletownbere. The trees surrounding it where filled with coloured lanterns, which rustled gently in the wind. The air was cold and crisp, but also surprisingly still. Cas had said it felt like it might snow, that he could smell it on the air, which Dean sincerely hoped wasn't true. He didn't fancy trying to drive back down the hill covered in a layer of ice. He shuddered and wrapped his leather jacket closer around himself, burying his face deeper into his scarf. He considered everything that had happened over the past week; he had thought he'd patched things up with Cas, but the other man had become withdrawn, and seemed to be avoiding being alone with Dean no matter what. In hindsight, he _should_ have told Castiel how he was feeling, but that was just so damn hard. It was easier swallowing the pill than having to deal with the possible rejection. He felt like he was going around in circles; he was trapped inside the maze of his mind, and no matter where he turned, he always ended up with the same view: _I am falling in love with a man._ If he ignored his feelings, he suddenly became hyper-aware of every movement of Castiel's fingers; suddenly the other man invaded all of Dean's senses and overwhelmed him, the smell of his newly-washed hair, the colour of his eyes, the feeling of his knee against Dean's when they sat together on the sofa. No, ignoring it made it worse. He could spend hours and hours thinking about it, but that led to more frustration than Dean knew how to release. He could talk to someone about it: his discussion with Jo seemed to have gone well, but for some reason, when it really mattered he found himself unable to take her advice. And… well the last option was talking about his feelings to the one person they pertained to and he actually _couldn't_ do it. See? Infuriating. He was losing sleep, fighting the losing battle of sneaking into Castiel's bed and holding him/whispering everything into the sleeping man's ear/ravaging one another with matched enthusiasm, and wow he should stop this train of thought right there because his cheeks were getting hot and he'd be damned if anybody saw him blush at this party. He was here to get drunk, and _maybe_ do some dancing.

The barn was full to bursting, almost the whole town had turned up to dance to the sounds of the local musicians; fiddlers and pipers, drummers and singers who would usually perform in the local pubs every Friday laughed and joked as they played. There was something incredibly pure about Irish folk music, and it made Dean's heart swell painfully. The speaker at the front was shouting moves into the microphone ('swing your partners round, aaaand dosey doe. Polka!'), and an occasional 'whoop' or cackle would erupt from the crowd as they tried desperately to remember the steps. It was hot and loud and Dean found his spirits significantly lifted at the sight. There they were; the people he used to go to school with, along with the teachers, those he sold fish to, and those he passed on the street every single day. Church goers and underage drinkers, policemen and the local ruffians, all dancing and drinking with one another, bringing in the new year as a community. He looked over his shoulder to Cas, who was standing stock still, his eyes wide with excitement.

"What do you think, Cas?" he probed.

Castiel's mesmerisation was broken at that, and his piercing blue eyes met Dean's in an instant.

"I want to dance!" he cried, his face breaking into a grin.

"I'm sure you can find someone to dance with you, everyone's friendly here."

"You're not going to… I thought maybe we could…" Cas stuttered, his eyes falling to his shoes.

"What? You thought you'd actually get me up and prancing about?" Dean laughed and threw an arm about Castiel's shoulder, pulling him close in, what he hoped was a friendly gesture.

"Maybe," Cas said sullenly, "how many drinks will it take?" he asked, gazing up at Dean's profile, reveling in this rare closeness. He resisted the urge to press his nose against the stubble on Dean's cheek, but only just.

"More than we can afford, buddy."

"But I don't know anyone here, and there seems to be a lot of hand-holding." He felt Dean tense then, and cursed himself for pushing Dean to dance. But, when he chanced another glance at his face, he realised that Dean was staring far off into the throng of people. Dean's arm left his shoulder, and he had to bite his tongue to stop a groan of disappointment from escaping his lips.

"What is it?" he asked.

"What the hell is Meg Masters doing here, Bobby?" Dean growled.

Bobby was grabbing drinks at the makeshift bar to their left, but now he turned around to Dean, following his line of sight.

"Beats me, son. You ain't dancing, she won't even notice you're here. Don't sweat it." He turned to press a ten pound note into the hand of the gruff bartender, and handed Dean and Cas a cold bottle of beer from the cool box.

"Bobby, you don't have to do that, they're free. It's new years!" crowed the bartender, reaching the money back to Bobby, who promptly pushed the man's hand back.

"I know. Just giving something back, don't tell Rufus, for pete's sake." He said, earning a barking laugh from the barkeep, who worked the barn for Rufus most days, and was probably earning a little extra from this party.

"Dean?" Cas tapped Dean's elbow.

"Yeah?"

"Who is Meg?" He kept his voice hushed in case she was a subject to be hushed about.

"Oh, long story, Cas. Just do yourself a favour and stay away from that bitch." It was only when Castiel snatched his hand away from Dean's elbow that he realised he'd been gently holding it this whole time. He wondered absently whether Dean had noticed.

* * *

Jo and Ellen turned out to be much more willing participants than Bobby and the boys, so Cas gleefully joined them once the first dance was over. They stood in the middle of the barn as the musicians re-tuned, and discussed what tune they'd play next. Cas had been introduced to Dean's old school friend Charlie; a beautiful red-head with dangerous levels of intellect. Ellen pointed her in Dean's direction and when she called out to him, Cas saw Dean's eyes light up, and a huge grin spread across his face. That was the moment it hit Cas; he hadn't actually seen Dean grin that sincerely since Christmas Day, and he wanted to cry all over again. He murmured a goodbye to Charlie as she wound her way through the crowd towards Dean's table, and watched as Dean stood to fold her totally in his arms, both of them swaying side to side and laughing. If Jo hadn't gently touched his arm to revert his attention back to her, he was sure he would have stared all night long, trapped in a jealous longing.

"Hey, Cas… you okay?" she said, rubbing his arm through the soft cotton of the plaid shirt that Bobby had leant him.

"Oh… yes, yes of course, I'm fine." He smiled, trying to will it to at least touch his eyes. If it didn't convince her, Jo didn't mention it.

"Okay, for this next dance you'll need four couples to a set, so take a moment to find your couples!" the speaker's voice announced loudly.

Jo and Ellen began casting their eyes about the room, making wild gestures with their hands towards other small groups of people.

"Rufus!" cried Ellen, "Get over here now, just one dance!"

Jo slipped her arm through Castiel's, "You ready, partner?" she said in a poor impression of a Texan accent.

"What… where was that accent meant to be from?" Castiel laughed, grateful to Jo for her sunny disposition. He was smiling again for all of a few seconds, when he eyes fell on Meg Masters, sauntering towards him with a short, gruff man in tow. "Do you mind if Fergus and I join you guys?" she smiled sweetly. Jo smiled back, but it didn't escape Cas' notice that it was a gesture laced with sarcasm. Before she could reply Ellen stepped in, "Oh good! You two make up our eight! Perfect!" Jo rolled her eyes at Castiel, and pulled him slightly away from Meg, whose eyes he could feel burning holes into the side of his head.

"Everyone take their positions please!" the speaker cried, "We're going to attempt the Devon Jig!" he was met by room-wide groans, as the townsfolk tried to recall how on earth that dance went.

"Alright, settle down, I'll take you through it, don't worry. It'll come flooding back!" he teased.

Castiel would be lying if he said he got the hang of the Devon Jig even half way through. He felt like a limp blanket being dragged all around by everyone in his group at one time or another, but he skipped and he laughed and he clapped, and slowly but surely the tension of the last week began to drain away. It felt good to properly laugh again, especially when Fergus and Meg had to make the arch, and Fergus was just that little bit too short. Castiel felt breathless and giddy, and when the music wound down to a finish, he found himself crowing his approval with the rest of the room. His attention was caught by a gentle bump against his arm. He looked down and saw Meg's dark brown eyes gazing back at him.

"Hello, I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Meg." Her voice was low, a peculiarly sensual drawl, but her face was relatively innocent looking. Castiel wondered what on earth this girl had done to make Dean and Jo hate her so much.

"Castiel. It's nice to meet you." He offered his hand, and she slipped her small hand inside his, her skin soft and warm.

"Castiel… that's an odd name. Never heard that before. It suits you." She smiled, letting go of his hand.

"This next dance is a couple's round, so please, pick your partners!" shouted the announcer.

Castiel looked around for Jo, but she was nowhere to be seen. Ellen was gone too, as was Fergus.

"Looks like it's you and me, Cas." Meg smiled, her arm sliding through his, as Jo's had done before. With Jo it felt like an amicable act, but with Meg he felt his skin crawl slightly.

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" he offered politely, "You'll have to take it easy on me, I'm pretty terrible at this." He waffled, trying to fill the awkward silence that was settling upon them. It was a different sort of silence to the ones he would sometimes share with Dean; these silences with Meg felt tense, and Castiel really couldn't place his finger on what the reason for that was.

"Don't worry, Clarence, I'll take good care of you." She smirked. _That's just it though, I am a little worried._

"So, men, acting or real, I'd like to take your real or acting-lady partners around the waist if you would." The announcer spoke.

Meg took Castiel's left arm and wound it around her tiny waist, and it might have just been his imagination, but he could have sworn she brushed her fingers down his forearm to his hand, before letting go. He held her as loosely as he could get away with.

"Now ladies, acting or otherwise; oh, Rufus, do I have to keep saying that? It's just exhausting is all. Fine. Ladies, acting or real, please do the same to your real or stand-in-men please."

Castiel surpressed a shudder as he felt Meg's slender arm reach around his waist and clasp him tightly. He looked down at her and offered a small smile, which she returned enthusiastically, looking up at him through her lashes.

"This dance is quite fast, guys, just to let you know! You'll be walking forward for four paces. Off you go; one, two, three, four!"

Meg led Castiel in the four forward paces.

"And now, you'll turn and walk backwards for four paces, does that make sense?" the announcer looked for any sort of reply, and laughed when the whole room of couples, standing in a huge circle, got terribly confused at walking backwards in such close proximity.

"Ah, you'll get the hang of it. And now we do the opposite. So, now you're looking at the asses of another couple, correct?" he was met with a chorus of laughter and 'yes'es. "Grand. So walk forward another four paces, and then, guess what! You'll turn around and walk backwards for four straight after. Let's try that then."

Castiel was feeling clumsy, and kept almost tripping over his own feet, but Meg talked him through every step in a hushed voice.

"Now, men-"

"Acting or otherwise!" cried several of the people in the room.

"Thank you! You'll take your real or pretend women for a little spin; so hold her hand up high, you know what to do, ladies."

Meg threaded her fingers through Castiel's and raised it above his head, and twirled her little body so elegantly on the end of it; their fingers becoming uncomfortable untangled.

"Then you'll grab her, or him, in a waltz position, take her four paces forwards, four back and then get ready to polka round the circle! You'll see every corner of the barn by the time we're done ladies and gents, are you ready to have a go?"

"Yes!" came the collective response.

"Alright, boys! A-one, a-two, a-one two three four!"

The room swirled, and the music was swelling, getting faster and faster. Castiel was like a giddy school boy, and two minutes in, was holding Meg close to him, totally forgetting the discomfort he felt before; he pegged it on the fact that they were strangers. She was a good partner, laughing along with him, and not taking herself too seriously. During the polka, they'd taken to shouting "polka, polka, polka, polka!" at one another as they twirled around, bodies flush against one another, her thick dark hair leaving a cloud of intoxicating musk whenever she span. Castiel's slightly sweaty reverie was broken when he polka-ed Meg past the table where Dean was sat with Bobby and Sam. Dean's green eyes were dilated, and smoldering. His mouth was set in a grim line, and his jaw twitched as he clenched it. Cas found he couldn't take his eyes away from him, and Dean didn't break the stare either. Castiel's legs, before light as feathers, now heavy as led began to slow, his body started to turn towards the other man, but before he could walk towards him, Dean shoved away from the table and headed for the stairs into the main house. He saw Sam follow, and found his stomach suddenly full of butterflies.

* * *

Sam had deduced that his older brother was storming off in a jealous rage, and quickly followed him to do what anyone would have done in this situation; shake Dean by the shoulders and tell him how Castiel was feeling the exact same feelings that he was, and implore him to stop being such a child about all of this. Rufus' house was growing dark and cold, and Sam almost tripped up the stairs three or four times.

"Dean!" he called.

"Sammy?" he heard Dean's voice come from the top of the stairs. When he got there, he saw light pooling out of one of the rooms to the side of the landing.

"Dean, what the hell?"

"Oh. Sorry, Sammy, just needed a bit of space. It was getting pretty hot in there." Dean smiled, all bravado and pretense.

"Dean, I know what's going on." He said, coming into the room and sitting down on the sofa next to Dean.

"What's going… what's going on with what, Sam?"

"You and Cas." His brother looked away to try and hide his blush, the idiot. Sam would have been able to see it in the dark.

"There's nothing going on between me and Cas."

"Bullshit, Dean!" Sam exclaimed, exasperated, "I know that you tried to kiss him on Christmas Day, and I know you're freaking out about it, but he's not. You know you really upset him the other day, right?"

"I… what?" Dean's eyes grew wide and he sat up a little straighter.

"You insinuated that being gay was a bad thing, something to be scared of or ashamed of. You've been acting like a homophobic ass, Dean, and you need to fix this."

"But… we're fine. I mean, he's happy. Are you sure he was upset?"

"Well, he'd been crying out in the yard, yeah. Pretty sure he was upset. And if you think he's genuinely happy around you right now, then you're more stupid than I thought."

"But we've been talking… like normal ever since."

"Dean, wake up! He's pretending to be fine for you! He thinks you don't want anything like that with him, so he's pretending to agree with you, even though he wants what you really want. God, this is so much more complicated than it needs to be."

"You mean-"

"He really did want to kiss you that night? Yeah. He's been upset, thinking that you think he's disgusting for wanting that… even though you started it. Oh, my god, Dean just sort it out. Please." Dean had his head in his hands, and had fallen very silent. Sam touched his shoulder, "Dean?"

"Sam, I'm not… I'm not even nearly good enough for him. I'm a mess over this. I've never felt anything like what I feel for him. For any poor girl I brought home. Even Lisa."

Sam smiled sadly. He had liked Lisa. She was Dean's only girlfriend, spanning a grand total of a month and a half before Dean began letting work and family get ahead of her. They were young, and she was beautiful. She moved away to Dublin, and never got into contact with Dean ever again.

"Dean, what have you got to lose?"


	10. Chapter 10

Of The Ocean

Chapter Ten

Dean's entire being was filled with electricity; he felt it coursing through his arms and legs, his fingers tingled and shook. This was it. He knew now that he could tell Cas how he was feeling without the fear of rejection. His brain was concentrating on only two things: getting down these stairs in the dark without breaking his neck, and finding Castiel and kissing him the way he'd dreamed of every day for the last few weeks. The heat of the barn hit him like a brick wall, and the sounds and sights and smells briefly overtook his senses. His vision blurred, as he struggled to focus on anything but the flowing material of dresses or the shine of shoes as they stomped and skipped across the floor. He cast his sights around the edges of the room, to the tables where people were resting or in deep conversation, or… Dean froze, and his heart shriveled painfully in his chest. _It can't be him, no, please God, no._ Dean felt the strongest urge to vomit, and made swiftly for the exit, hiding the fact that tears were brimming in his eyes.

* * *

The kiss had taken Castiel by wholly by surprise. He and Meg had finished the last couples dance and immediately leapt into a second, which involved some jumping and throwing-about-of-limbs and he was absolutely too exhausted for another dance. Meg had kept herself close to him in any way possible; keeping her arms around him long after the dance had finished, stepping forward every time Castiel stepped back to get some space. He was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic, and was trying desperately _not_ to want to find Dean.

"I think I need a little sit down." He said, grateful when Meg finally unlocked the cage of her arms. He found a free table and collapsed into one of the chairs. Meg followed close behind, and sat in the chair directly next to him, and stared up at him.

"I've had fun dancing with you tonight." She said, her voice dipping even lower. Castiel found he had to lean towards her to catch what she was saying over the sounds in the room.

"Me too!" he shouted back as the music swelled around them, "Although, maybe we should find Fergus and Jo again; they're missing out on all of this!" he hoped that was a subtle enough hint.

"Oh, you bored of me, Clarence?" she teased in return. _Ugh, dammit._

"Of course not." He smiled, ever the gentleman. It was at that moment he saw Dean appear from the stairs across the room. Cas was starting to wonder if he'd ever _not_ spot Dean. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes had a wild look to them. Not a bad sort of wild either… a sort of excited one. _Oh my god,_ Cas thought. _This is it._ The butterflies in his stomach erupted once more, and he began raising his arm to alert Dean to his whereabouts, but thought against it. He was with Meg… there were better places to have this talk. He made to stand but felt a strong hand pull him back into his seat.

"Where are you going, sugar?" Meg purred into his ear, and Castiel cringed.

"Um. I was just about to pop to the loo…" he lied.

"Nonsense, you're staying right here." She murmured, grazing her lips against his jaw. Castiel froze, which she took as permission to harden her kisses along his jaw, and up to the corner of his mouth. Castiel felt sick. His body was still but his eyes roamed wildly, looking for Dean, looking for a way to escape… anything. Her fingers came to his cheek, and she was pushing his face towards her and he didn't want this, not at all, but as he began leaning back, she surged forwards and crashed her lips against his. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut; his whole face scrunching. He wasn't even contributing to this kiss, but Meg moaned low in her throat, and began rubbing soothing circles on the back of his neck. She must have _thought_ them soothing, but her nails scratched uncomfortably against his skin, and reminded Castiel of brittle twigs. It can't have been more than a second, but it felt like a lifetime before Castiel could wrench himself away. Just in time to see Dean's back disappearing out the door. _Fuck._

"Meg, this has been… horrible, it's all been horrible. You're a nice girl… I guess. And I've enjoyed dancing with you but I need to go and find my friend."

"Hey, wait. I was just getting started."

"I am an unwilling participant in…" he gestured wildly towards her, "this. Just… please stop. Please don't kiss me again, and please don't follow me."

"I thought we were having fun…"

Castiel made his way to the doors, and shouted over his shoulder, "You thought wrong!" He made for the huge double doors, bumping into a couple of tables in his haste. He left behind the sound of clinking glasses, sloshing alcohol and shouts of displeasure and appeared outside. It would have been absolutely pitch black had it not been for the lanterns strewn through the branches of the surrounding trees, lighting the bare branches from the base, emphasising their gnarled shapes and sharp angles. His breath was floating from his lips in huge plumes, and he shivered, hugging himself tightly against the chill. He didn't know where to start, but decided that perhaps scouting around the barn would be a good start. He didn't like to think of Dean in this cold by himself, thinking thoughts that simply weren't true. He had to set this straight.

* * *

Dean had stalked all the way around to the back of the barn, and braced himself against the walls of it as he dry-heaved for the umpteenth time. He was sweating and shivering, and he just felt so, so sick. He rubbed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, as he breathed in deeply and slowly, trying to regain any sort of composure. He heard footsteps approaching behind him and whirled around to be faced by the one person he was simultaneously desperate to see and was also the last person he wanted to see.

"Dean…" he spoke, trying to close the space between them.

"Cas, please don't come any closer, I can't… I don't understand." Dean felt his arms wave frantically, even though he hadn't told them to do that. He leant against the wall of the barn heavily, running his freezing hands over his face and training his eyes on the ground.

"Dean, please let me explain."

"What is there to explain, Cas? You kissed her. Fine, good for you. I'm cool with it." Dean ground out through gritted teeth.

"I didn't kiss her. She… You're not cool with it, otherwise you wouldn't be out here looking like death, and also potentially catching it." Castiel tried to come closer again, but Dean's arm shot out once more to stop him.

"How dare you." Dean felt the words creep up his throat like bile, but he couldn't help but spit poison at his friend, the one person he could have loved. "How dare you presume to know how I'm feeling. Cas? We've had a good run and all, but this," he gestured towards him, "it's just too much. I'm so confused and I just want it to end. I'm so fucking tired of feeling this way, whatever 'this way' is. I don't know. I'm going round in circles and I just need it to stop. Don't presume to know what's going on inside me, Cas, because I can assure you have absolutely no idea."

Castiel frowned and felt his own anger bubbling to the surface, " _Me_ presume to know your feelings? How about when you presumed that I was disgusted by what you did on Christmas Day? How about the fact that you assumed I wanted to forget all about it? Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? Do you?" Dean rounded on him, pushing himself away from the wall.

"How could I have any idea? You won't _talk to me about it!"_ he yelled and Castiel ruffled.

"I've done nothing but _try_ and talk to you about it! I'm not the one who's been ignoring you all week, Dean. I can't believe you're actually turning this around on me. How deluded _are_ you? You really think that being attracted to a guy is something to be ashamed of, don't you? Like, being gay is the worst thing someone could be. I get that this is a confusing time for you, Dean, but how dare you take it out on me. How could you pull me in and push me away, confuse and hurt me like this? On account of you won't just stand up and _admit your feelings._ Right here, right now, this is your moment to tell me, Dean. It's all been leading up to this hasn't it?" when Dean didn't offer a response, Castiel continued. "I didn't kiss Meg. She kissed me, and I hated every second of it. I… I was about to come over to you when I saw you but she pounced on me, and I couldn't get away. You have to know, Dean, that you are _everything._ You saved my fucking life, don't you think that's pretty fucking special? You saved my life, gave me shelter, bought me clothes, brought me into your family, shared your life with me, and you _still think_ that I have no sort of feelings for you? I _do_ , Dean. And I think I'm in the perfect position to presume how you're feeling, because I look at you and I see everything written right there, on your face. You're scared, you've never been with a man, never had a lasting relationship, I get it. It's hard to let yourself fall. It is. If I've done it before I don't remember, but it's new, and it's exciting, and fuck, it's _special to me._ You. You're special to me. Wherever I am, I want you to be there with me. Whatever I'm doing, I want you to be doing it too. When we're together, it's just… it's right. Isn't it?" he looked to Dean for a response. He was looking at the ground, but he thought he saw an almost imperceptible nod. He took this as his cue to step towards him. "Dean. Everything you've done for me… everything you are to me, it's… this is some sort of profound bond that we share. You can't tell me you don't feel it too. And yeah, it's scary as hell because what I feel? Inside me? It's intense."

Dean finally looked up then, his eyes wide and afraid.

"I'm scared, Cas." He whispered.

"I know. I am too." Castiel replied, taking another step towards him. He was close now, about arm's length away, and the tingling that was racing through his body was intoxicating.

A strangled noise ripped itself from Dean's throat, as he reached out to the material of Castiel's shirt, dragging him forwards. Dean pulled him close, but didn't seem to know what he wanted once they were nose to nose. He looked so frightened and excited all at once, and Castiel sighed heavily, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist and holding him close. Dean's arms wrapped tightly around Castiel's shoulders. He held on so tight that Castiel could have sworn he felt them melding into one being. He turned his face into the crook of Dean's neck and pressed into it, his arms travelling up Dean's back, rubbing up and down to try and soothe the other man. Dean rested his forehead on Castiel's shoulder and he noticed with a jolt that this was the closest he'd ever been to Cas' mouth in real life. He could smell the sweetness of his breath, and was overcome with urge to know what that tasted like. He pulled back slightly, and Castiel raised his head to look directly at him. Dean took this moment to really _look_ at Castiel; all wide, blue eyes and dark ruffled hair, smooth alabaster skin stretched over his high cheekbones. He was perfect. He was everything Dean wanted, but he was too afraid to reach out and take it. Castiel's eyes flitted between his own, and his arms around his waist tightened in encouragement. Dean began leaning forward, as did Castiel, which caused both men to pull back again. Castiel laughed a little under his breath. He leant forward once more and touched his nose to Dean's, jerking upwards as if to say _it's okay, I want this._

"You know, that's the most I've ever heard you say." Dean mumbled, laughing slightly. Castiel grinned, leaned up, and gently brushed his lips against Dean's; a soft gesture, not a kiss but an invitation, a nervous, uncertain action that made Dean's breath hitch in his chest.

"Dean…" he whispered, his lips barely leaving Dean's. That was all the courage Dean needed, and he closed the tiny space between them. He kissed him carefully at first. It had been a long time since Dean had kissed _anybody_ and he wanted to make sure he remembered how to do it well. He placed chaste pecks on the other man's lips, pulling away a hair's breadth after each one. His arms moved from Castiel's shoulders, and he cupped the other man's face with both of his hands, running his thumbs along his cheeks, reveling in the sound of his skin meeting stubble. He felt Castiel's hands travel up his back, and drag heavily back down, to rest his hands on Dean's hips, gripping them tightly. A warmth was spreading through Dean's chest, and it made him desperate for more of Castiel. He began maneuvering him to that Cas' back was against the wall, but he felt the other man slip slightly, breaking their kiss. They both barked a laugh, punctuated by a large cloud of their mingled breath. An awkward moment like that _should_ have broken the spell, but Dean only found himself wanting another go, and another, and another…

"I feel like naughty school kids." Cas giggled. Dean ran his hands up and down Castiel's arms, marveling at how well he'd filled out since the first time he'd met this man. He felt strong now, whereas he felt delicate the first time he'd helped him to the hut. He'd only known this man for two months, but he had already become one of the most important people in his life. There was a deep flush spreading up his neck. Dean wanted to kiss him there, so he dipped his head and trailed his lips lazily across the soft skin between Castiel's neck and shoulder. Castiel's fingers came up to Dean's hair, and scratched gently at his scalp, which pulled a low moan from Dean. He _loved_ having his hair played with, and he melted into the touch. His hands found their resting place on Castiel's slim hips, and his thumbs rubbed along the hip bones that didn't stick out nearly as much as they used to. He felt Cas' hands travel from his hair to his jaw, and felt him pull Dean's face up to meet his once more. Dean shivered at the gentle power of Castiel's touch, and raised his head to meet Castiel's lips once more. He used more pressure this time, his chaste pecks turning into longer, open-mouthed kisses. He inwardly cursed when he heard the surprised noise he made when he felt Castiel's tongue brush against his own. He felt Castiel pull away, but Dean followed him, not wanting to break contact just yet, which caused Castiel to smile into the kiss before running his tongue along Dean's bottom lip. Dean's soft moan was caught in his throat as Castiel moved his head to deepen the kiss further. Now, they were hardly ever breaking apart, but instead moved in perfect sync with one another. Dean pressed against Castiel, needing to be closer, even though there was absolutely no way they could be.

It was then that he became aware of something wet on his face, and he broke apart from Castiel to inspect. A water droplet had travelled from his forehead down his nose, and he wiped at it. Another fell on his finger as he held it up in front of his face. Then he felt several landing on his arms and shoulders, and saw some landing in Castiel's hair.

"It's snowing." Castiel whispered excitedly. Dean grinned back at him. Christ, he was beautiful.

"Are you cold?" he asked, tightening his grip around the smaller man.

"No, 'm fine." He mumbled sleepily, snuggling deeper in Dean's grip. Dean pressed a kiss into his hair, and let his hands roam over Castiel's back, up and down his sides. He just couldn't believe this had finally happened. He was grinning like a prize idiot, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He pressed another kiss to Castiel's temple, which caused bright blue eyes to meet his own.

"Dean?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm very glad we did this." Castiel smiled bashfully, pressing his face into Dean's cheek and snuggling him there too.

Their dreamscape was broken rather unceremoniously by the faint sounds of the townspeople counting down to the New Year. Castiel's hands ran up Dean's chest to drape over his shoulders. He began counting down too, and Dean joined him, holding him ever closer. Castiel raised his head to look Dean right in the eyes,

"Five, four-" he kissed Dean's lips again, gently, "two, one-" and caught them again with more tenderness than Dean had ever experienced, and it made him simultaneously want to laugh and cry.

"Happy new year, Dean." Castiel breathed, resting their foreheads together.

"Yeah, happy new year, Cas." Dean smiled, leaning forward again, diving headfirst into the warmth that was Castiel.


	11. Chapter 11

Of The Ocean

Chapter Eleven

 **January**

The water bit sharply into Sam's back as he lay on the surface, his weight fully supported by Castiel's arms; one under his shoulders and one under his knees. It was nine o'clock on a Saturday morning; it was one of those mornings where the sun is shining, but it offers no warmth. Usually, these crisp Winter mornings were Sam's favourite… when he was safe on dry land and not soaking wet. He was shivering so much that it actually physically hurt. The panic bubbled in this throat, and he was taking short, heavy breaths in and out through his mouth.

"Sam, it's alright. I've got you." Castiel chuckled, tightening his grip.

"Cas! Cas, I really don't like this!"

"The water is your frie-"

"Don't give me that bullshit!" Sam shouted, wriggling free from Castiel's grip, only to discover that his feet couldn't find the floor. He began splashing desperately, before his arms were stilled by Castiel's hands at his wrists, pulling him to safety once more. He felt an arm slip around his middle, holding him tightly, safely as Castiel swam them back to the dock. Sam couldn't help but feel intensely jealous at how easy he made this whole _swimming against the tide_ thing look. He just flowed through it… like he was _part of it._ Sam wanted that, but he couldn't shake the feeling that if he gave up, if he stopped, dropped the ball for one second, the waves would just push him further and further into that great, grey nothing, and he'd never be able to make it back. He would never be able to escape. Once you were out there, the only exit was one that threatened to kill you. It was a weird sort of claustrophobia… what did they call it? The kind where you feel like you're suffocating in very large spaces? He'd have to look it up later; that was going to get on his nerves all day otherwise.

"Fuck it, Cas. This is too hard." Sam breathed, clinging desperately to the rough, wood of the dock like his life depended on it (it certainly felt that way).

"It's mind over matter, that's all." Castiel smiled encouragingly. Sam's teeth started to chatter loudly, and he felt a terrific shudder run right through him. He noticed that Castiel's teeth weren't reacting the same way and he frowned at the man.

"Aren't you cold?"

The corners of Castiel's mouth turned down and he shrugged, "No, not particularly."

"You mean you're shoulder-deep in the Celtic sea in the middle of January and you're… what? Fine?"

Castiel's eyes slid away from his and he pushed away from the dock, hardly disturbing the water as he did. The conversation was very clearly over before it had begun, and that only made Sam frown harder.

"Come on, you're never going to learn if you just cling to that." He replied softly, beckoning Sam towards him with open arms. Sam shook his head and splashed clumsily towards Castiel.

* * *

Castiel smiled at the flowers in the kitchen window, small, wild flowers picked from the front garden, standing proud in a tall, thin vase that Dean found in a charity shop earlier that month. He'd said that the blues and greens reminded him instantly of Castiel and he couldn't resist it. Castiel reached out and ran his fingers over the smooth glass, the colours marbled like a wave dragging along the sand. The kettle started it's slow crescendo on the stove, and Castiel reached for a teatowel to wrap around it's handle. He poured the steaming water into two roughly molded clay mugs filled with chocolate powder. Sam appeared as if on cue, running a towel through his mop of thick hair. He smiled when his eyes met Cas' and he gave an exaggerated shiver. Castiel reached into one of the cupboards and retrieved a bag of marshmallows, sprinkling them over the top of the piping hot mugs of cocoa (making sure Sam got more than him).

"Oh, thanks Cas." Sam breathed, curling his hands around the mug and inhaling the sweet scent with glee.

"You deserve it, you did really well out there." Castiel leaned back against the kitchen counter, blowing to cool his beverage down before taking an experimental sip. The drink burnt him, but at least it provided warmth that the cabin simply couldn't; it wasn't very well insulated so often it was pretty unbearable. Even though Dean's house was pretty much habitable now, Castiel felt attached to the hut, often preferring to stay there instead of at Dean's. The two men still hadn't… well, they would sneak kisses behind their friends' backs, would sometimes place gentle touches on knees or thighs under the table, causing earnest blushes to creep across their cheeks. They hadn't told the family about what had happened at New Year's. It still felt vulnerable; as if saying it out loud would break the spell, as if people knowing about it would spoil it. It was theirs, and they were reveling in the novelty of it all. It felt so overwhelming to finally _have_ what he'd wanted. It felt so amazing to spend time alone with Dean and be able to reach over and run his fingers through his hair (which, incidentally, was sinfully soft) or kiss him wherever, and whenever he wanted. Even the feeling of Dean's hand in his was enough to make him smile wider than he thought he could. They still broke apart, bashful, when their kisses quickened, their breaths came deeper and desperate noises emerged from their throats, when their hands started roaming unchecked, flitting over buttons, skirting over zippers. They'd rest their foreheads together, breathing heavily and chuckling softly. Their touches would turn into slower, heavier strokes then; up arms, down sides, curling around backs and shoulders, carding through hair and along jawlines. They'd just hold one another in comfortable silence, drinking one another in. It was nice, who was he kidding, it was perfect, but Castiel had started to feel frustrated with always being led right to the edge, only to be pulled back from jumping. It would climb up his throat, thick as tar, but Castiel found himself swallowing his words, fearful of putting any pressure on Dean.

Sam snorted, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Yeah, I swim about as well as a brick. If you call that good, then, hell, I'm doing bloody fantastic. I'll be swimming like you in no time." Sam laughed, and Castiel shook his head, smiling.

"You're overcoming a huge fear, Sam, it's going to take time. Even getting in the sea with me and surrendering yourself to it was immensely brave." Sam returned his smile, beginning to look a little pleased with himself. Then his brows suddenly knitted together and he raised his eyes back to Cas'.

"So… why weren't you cold out there? You're shivering now. But… I mean, that water was in minus figures easy."

Castiel clenched his jaw to stop his teeth chattering. He smiled brightly, "I was cold out there."

"N…no you weren't, Cas. That's not what you said out there. You shrugged, you said 'no, not really'."

"Did I?" He tried his best to sound sunny, but his voice sounded strained instead.

"You know y- Cas, what is going on?"

Castiel sighed, running his hand along his jaw and cast his eyes to the faded wooden floor, noticing that it was in dire need of a sweep.

"Cas?"

If he was honest with himself, he had to say that these strange nuances were always lurking at the back of his mind; always feeling slightly lightheaded when he was away from the sea, going warm all over when he was in it, that and the continuing repetition of that peculiar dream with the muffled voices and the swinging ceiling lamp. No other details had appeared through the frosted window of his mind, nothing that could help him make sense of any of it. It was infuriating. The worst part is that he couldn't do _anything_ to help himself… where would he start?

"You hungry? Want something to eat?" He smiled, and watched as Sam glowered back.

"Okay, fine, don't tell me. You're only making yourself appear more suspicious, you know." He narrowed his eyes and turned away from Cas, flopping down on the sofa.

* * *

Dean sighed as he turned the final page of Petroski's _Remaking the World_ and shook his head rapidly, not entirely sure he understood that last chapter. He would have to revisit it. Lately, his mind was plagued with doubt over this new _thing_ with Cas. It fogged his mind so completely that he couldn't even concentrate on making a cup of tea, let alone books describing new advances in mechanical engineering. For all the confusion this new situation had caused in his mind, it was equally intoxicating. Dean felt like he could very well get up and fly whenever Castiel touched him; he felt like he could crow with the best of them after every kiss. He wanted more, of course he did. Castiel was no longer the sunken-faced, skeletal man he had rescued from the sea. He was alive, you could see it in his eyes, the colour of them, like water under the waves; that sort of blue that fluctuates with the rays of sun breaking the surface; deep, light, green, blue, all at once. It made him sick to admit it, but when Cas smiled, Dean's stomach actually did the flutter-y-thing. The problem was that Dean was scared to go… all the way as it were. Not only had he never done it with a man before, but he was also frightened of disappointing. And, most of all, he was scared of Castiel leaving, was afraid of getting too dependent on him… being there with him.

 _Once he's on his feet, he's gone._

Dean closed his eyes, rubbing them with cold, dry fingers and stood to crank the nets up to the deck, trying desperately to push all gloomy thoughts to the back of his mind.

* * *

Sam left the cabin at midday, making up the excuse that he had homework to do. Not necessarily making it up actually… he _did_ have homework in for Monday, but that would have to wait. Sam was currently peddling his bike to the mobile library, currently on the edge of town. He needed answers about Cas, and he needed them now. A man swims in water in minus figures and doesn't feel a thing; he swims without even disturbing the water; he sets foot on a boat and suddenly Dean is the top supplier of seafood for all of Cork. Was he supposed to assume this is normal? That Castiel was freakishly hot-blooded, streamlined and lucky? No. He was going to get to the bottom of this, and he knew exactly where to look. He pulled up to the battered SUV-come-mobile-library and locked his bike to a bollard on the pavement. Inside, there was a make-shift desk set against the driver's cab, and the various sections had been knocked through to make room for several, tall rows of second hand, well-loved books. They smelt like dust, stale smoke, and the sweet, slightly woody smell of old paper. Sam threw a cursory wave to the middle-aged woman perched behind the desk and made straight for the _Mythology_ section. He trailed his fingers along the ragged spine, tapping happily on any that displayed the words 'Creature' and 'Sea' in their titles. He took three, large dusty tomes to the desk and checked them out, stuffing them into his rucksack before turning his bike in the direction of Dean's house.

He had moved in a few days after New Year's Eve, and Dean had stayed up looking through the myriad furniture brochures with him; both feeling giddy and a little overwhelmed. Sam had stuck to the deals and had tried to find the cheapest items, but Dean was insistent that he choose whatever he wanted. It was a very new experience for the both of them; being faced with what they want, and also being able to obtain it. Sam had picked a simple dark wooden bed-frame, with matching desk and chest of drawers. Castiel had found some posters and decorations online, and Jo had a whole bunch of photos printed for him. Sam was happy for the first time in a long while; he loved Bobby and Ellen, and was forever grateful for putting him up (and putting up with him) all these years. But, this house had finally started feeling like a home again, like it used to be. Dean had started learning new recipes, even making meal plans which Sam teased him mercilessly about. He, Dean and Castiel would settle in the little sitting room together after dinner and watch television, usually talking over the top of it. His family was closer than it had ever been, and for the first time since his father died, Sam didn't feel angry or frustrated at _anything._ Life was good.

He stepped through the front door and made his way to his room (now devoid of damp) and threw the library books onto his bed. He settled himself, cross legged on top of the duvet, and pulled _Myths of the Sea_ towards him. He skipped past _Behemoth_ (too demonic, and Leviathan-y), _Drake_ (too serpent-y) and _Fuath_ (too angry) and then skimmed through the other pages. Everything in this book seemed evil and angry, two things that Castiel absolutely was not. He pushed that book aside, and picked up _Celtic Aquatics._

 _Murchata: A giant sea cat-_

Castiel had been known to stop and offer fusses to cats on the street, but he definitely didn't display any sort of _destruction on land._ If anything, Castiel had single-handedly fixed everything. Nope, Murchata was out.

 _Ceffyl Dwr: A fierce Water Horse of Wales. The Ceffyl Dwr has a grey illuminating coat and is surrounded by a mist. According to the folklore of southern Wales, the Ceffyl Dwr has wings, like the Pegasus. Its name means 'Water Horse' and like most Water Horses, the Ceffyl Dwr is not one that is friendly. The Ceffyl Dwr kills its victims by ambushing them out of the water and strangling them with its four legs. If it fails to strangle them to death, the horse will perish them by trampling its victim to death._

Sam snorted at the image of a horse using four legs to strangle someone. Castiel was anything but violent, and he definitely wasn't Welsh either. _Next._

 _Crodh Sidhe: The fairy cows of Gaelic folklore-_

Sam was struggling to find anything funnier than a _fairy cow_. He was about to give up on this book too, when something caught his eye on the next page:

 _Selkie._

* * *

Hello! Thank you so much for your patience with me, I really do appreciate it! I'd just like to take this moment to give credit where credit is due, and offer my thanks to . for keeping me entertained on a gloomy afternoon, and also for providing me with some excellent mythical beasts!


	12. Chapter 12

Of The Ocean

Chapter Twelve

"Hello, Dean." Castiel greets Dean at the door to the cabin, his hands covered in some unexplained substance, but _Christ, it's everywhere._

"What're you up to in here, Cas?" Dean laughs, pulling the smaller man in against his chest, and pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. Castiel worms out of the embrace, holding his hands up in a wordless explanation.

"I'm… trying to make some bread. But, the dough is being difficult." There is flour in his hair, on his cheeks, and all over his front. The dough has clumped stickily to each of his fingers, and he closes and opens his fists experimentally, but it only serves to create bigger clumps, which just stick to other parts of his hands. He looks up at Dean again, and smiles when he sees Dean grinning.

"Let's get you cleaned up." Dean says, running a tea towel under the tap and capturing Castiel's hands in it and dragging tightly. The whole scene is strangely intimate and Dean finds himself blushing. Once Cas' hands are pulled free of the warm, wet clasp of the tea towel, he inspects them. There's still dough under his short fingernails, and some of the dough as just been smoothed flat against his skin, but at least the majority of it is off.

"Can you help me?" he laughs, motioning to the unsightly mass of dough stuck to the counter.

"I'm not sure I can." Dean replies, but reaches for the flour anyway, grabbing a large handful and dusting the counter with it.

"I did that already." Castiel sulks, a mood that only intensifies as Dean manages somehow to coax the dough into a smooth ball, wrap it up and leave it to rise.

"Not so hard." Dean smirks, and Cas just frowns in response. Dean runs his hands under the tap before sauntering up to Cas and crowding him against the other counter. Castiel leans as far away from Dean as is physically possible, playing up his annoyance tenfold. Dean smiles, and presses even closer to Castiel, his hands coming to rest on the other man's hips as he leans, almost on tip toes to nudge his nose into Castiel's slightly stubble-covered neck.

"Nope." Castiel mutters defiantly, turning his face as far away from Dean's as his neck would allow, raising his hands above his head, but that only served as an invitation for Dean's arms to wind completely around him.

"Yup." Dean whispers back, his arms encasing him so fully that Castiel finds it hard not to relax into him, but he would _not give in._ That is, until he feels Dean's lips, soft and preciously gentle, press against his jaw. He feels his arms relax immediately to fall about Dean's shoulders before he's even told them not to. He feels Dean smile triumphantly against his skin, and Cas can't help but smile back, albeit begrudgingly. He sighs and pulls Dean flush against him, and they settle in a tight embrace for a long while.

"All good this morning?" he asks, rubbing circles into Dean's shoulders. Dean presses his nose against Castiel's pulse point and sighs.

"Eh, it was alright," he shrugged, "could use your help this week though." Cas feels one of Dean's arms snaking up his back, and it sends pleasant chills through his body. "Saw Meg on the way home." Dean's voice had dropped its casual tone almost instantly, and Castiel felt obliged to begin soothing him by stroking his hair.

"You never did tell me what happened between you guys…" he ventured. Dean was quiet for such a long time that Castiel had resigned to never knowing. But, then the cage of his arms unfurled, his hands resting on the counter either side of Castiel's hips.

"She… she started up a vicious rumour about my dad… back in secondary school."

Castiel threaded his fingers together behind Dean's neck, and rubbed his thumbs against the soft skin just behind Dean's ears, hoping to soothe.

"We didn't have too much money at the best of times… and sometimes my dad would hire apprentices to help him out. So he could be out on the water longer, you know? It was always young boys that were interested, and they'd spend a lot of time with him, here in the cabin, out on the boat, usually whole weekends. He was just trying to make ends meet, trying to provide." Dean's voice was so quiet, he sounded just as vulnerable as when he'd first shown Castiel where he lived. Cas snaked his arms around Dean's waist, and held him tightly, to protect him, to comfort him, anything.

"Anyway… Meg was vindictive and manipulative, even then. She and I were only about 13 at the time. She said she saw my dad… touching one of his apprentices. In a way he shouldn't have been touching a kid. She's a compulsive liar, Cas, that's an important thing to understand about Meg. But, she's also convincing. She made up this whole story in her head about how she'd been down on the beach, collecting pebbles for an art project, when she saw my dad's boat pull in. She said she saw him grip the boy by the wrist as he tried to leave. Said she saw him hold him tightly as he struggled, and forced this kid to kiss him. Said how she saw my dad's hands…" Dean shook his head, his brow frozen in a heavy frown. "She told her parents, her parents told the boy's parents, they told the police, my father was shunned for something that came entirely out of the imagination of a 13 year old bitch. He was subjected to endless questioning. The poor boy, I don't even remember his name now, he was questioned solidly too, but nothing ever came of it. His parents packed him up and moved him away, but my dad was never truly accepted again. Nobody would buy from him for a long time, still believing somehow that he was… this monster that he just never was. I've always wanted to ask her 'why him?' but what's the point? She'd just lie again. We suffered badly for years after that… we were broke a lot of the time, and if it weren't for Bobby and Ellen I reckon Sammy and I wouldn't be here at all. She ruined everything with one foul lie. And she's never once apologised. Never once admitted that was she did was wrong. Not even when he died."

Cas felt sick to his stomach, but couldn't find any words to articulate that feeling to Dean, who was now looking resolutely at the floor. He settled for pressing lingering kisses across Dean's jaw, dotting them along his hairline, across his cheeks, down his neck, anything to make him feel better. He wished he'd never asked, wanted desperately to take it back. Dean's arms encircled him once more and Castiel could have cried in relief when he felt Dean's lips touch his own in a chaste, wordless reassurance.

"I'm so sorry, Dean." Was all he could manage. He sought Dean's lips once more, and caught them in an urgent kiss. Dean pushed forwards in response, the counter biting painfully into Castiel's lower back. His fingers carded through the impossibly short hairs at the back of Dean's neck, as he crowded in greedily for more. Just as a low moan was building in Dean's throat, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He bunched Castiel's soft jumper in his hands, trying to ignore it, but it's incessant buzzing was almost impossible to deny, and he reluctantly pulled away from Cas' warm embrace, earning a low whine from the blue-eyed beauty in front of him. He ran his thumb along Castiel's bottom lip absent-mindedly as he fished in his jeans pocket for his phone with the other hand. Pulling it out, he saw Sam's name flashing at him. He smiled before finally stepping away from Cas to answer.

"Hey S-"

"Dean, we need to talk." Sam babbled.

"Is everything okay?" Dean replied, instantly concerned.

"Yeah, what? No, I'm fine, Dean. It's about Cas."

"What about him?" Dean murmured, trying desperately to hide the fact he was talking about a man who was currently staring wistfully at the ocean.

"It's… look, it'd be easier if you came home. Where are you?"

"At the cabin. Is it really so important?"

"Deadly important, Dean. I need to tell _someone_ about this!"

"Okay, I'll be there now." Dean promised, flipping his phone shut and motioning for Cas to follow him.

* * *

"A what?" Dean smirked, aghast at Sam's certainty in this.

"He's a selkie, Dean."

"That's total bull-crap, Sammy, don't be silly. Cas is a _man._ Just a normal bloke."

"Singing in some weird language and attracting half the fish in the ocean: just a normal _lad_ thing is it? You ever notice how he's always looking at the sea? How comfortable he is in it? You said he was _warm_ when you first fished him out, Dean, how is that even possible? Look, it says it right here: 'Selkies are of the ocean; they belong to it as much as a human belongs to land. Because their true home is the sea, they can often be found gazing longingly at the ocean.' Have you never noticed how much he _gazes_?"

"It also says that when he's in the water he takes the form of a _seal_ , Sam." Dean scoffed.

"Not if someone hid his skin."

"What a sentence." Dean laughed.

"A selkie sheds their sealskin when they are summoned to land. A human can hide that skin to prevent the selkie from turning back into their true form, and thus they're unable to return home."

"You feeling okay, Sam? Someone give you something dodgy in town today?" Dean joked, placing a hand on Sam's forehead. Sam hit it away irritably.

"You have to admit it makes some sense, Dean. There are things that Cas can do that humans can't. We were out in the sea this morning, and it was _freezing._ And Cas didn't even flinch. The control of the fish, being warm in the water, cold on land, it's not normal. He doesn't _remember_ who he is, Dean, who's to say he's n-"

"Not what?" Cas appeared, smiling in the doorway.

"Devilishly hungry," Dean chimed, "what do you fancy tonight?" Sam huffed noisily next to him, and stood up, motioning to the arm chair at the far end of the room.

"Cas, we need to talk-"

"Sam! There's nothing to talk about, this is all ridiculous!" Dean whined.

"What's ridiculous?" Cas queried, all innocent smiles.

"Are you a selkie?" Sam shouted over any protest that Dean was trying to yell over the top of him.

Castiel let out a sudden bark of laughter, "A what?"

"Right, that's what I said, Cas. It's nothing. The kid's been reading some weird shit is all-"

"A selkie. A mythical aquatic creature, famed all around the world; they take human form on land but in the sea they are seals."

"He thinks you're some sort of little mermaid, Cas." Dean laughed, but this time Cas didn't join in.

"They have been known to charm humans… for a male selkie to be summoned to land, a female human must shed seven tears into the ocean. Female selkies apparently make excellent wives… They have… they've got these sealskins, and if they're stolen and hidden away, their owner cannot change back into their original form and return to the sea; forced to stay on land in their human form until they find their skins." Sam babbled. Dean thought this to be a load of rubbish until he saw Castiel's reaction. Now, he wasn't so sure. Castiel was sitting very still, and seemed to be mulling everything over in his mind.

"It all sounds very… magical, Sam. But, I'm afraid that even if I were one of these strange creatures, I couldn't tell you. I don't know anything about my past." Dean's mouth fell open, "What? Dean, I don't… For all I know, maybe I _am._ "

"No, you're not, Cas."

"I don't know how to explain these weird things that keep happening… I don't get cold in the water, only on land. That weird song that came to me from nowhere: the only thing I actually do remember…"

"Oh, not you too." Dean cursed, throwing his arms in the air and making to leave. Sam's hand on his arm stopped him though, and he sat back down.

"Dean… I've been feeling terribly confused for the past few months about who I am… I've had this recurring dream every single night. You witnessed it once, right? That night we built the fort."

Dean flushed a deep shade of red when he remembered why he was really in that room on that particular occasion. Sam leaned forward eagerly.

"Tell us, Cas." He encouraged.

"I don't know…" he looked at his hands and spoke shyly, "it… it feels like a memory of sorts. But, it's like I'm witnessing it from underwater or something; I can't identify faces, and everything's muffled. But there's… there's a swinging light above me," he closes his eyes to better visualise this scene he's been seeing for almost three months now, "it's swinging from side to side; everything is. I'm on a boat, on some sort of table… there are voices, and they're worried. They're worried that I _know something_. Someone called Jones… they decide to throw me overboard. And then I'm thrown into the sea and I jolt awake every time." He spread his hands and raised his eyes to the two brothers, "I don't know what it means either, but I'm certain that's how I ended up in the sea for you to catch me, Dean… why they chucked me over, I don't think I'll ever know. If anything it only muddies the waters more…"

Both brothers were frowning, deep in thought. Dean broke the silence.

"I wish I'd known, Cas. I remember how scared you looked that night I saw you wake from that…"

Sam piped up with, "What if you're like… some sort of scientific experiment gone wrong?"

"Sam…"

"Oh, a spy?! Bourne Identity!" he grins, and Castiel and Dean give in to laugh along with him.

"What about the selkie business? You were pretty set on that a few moments ago." Dean teased.

"Well, if we find his sealskin then we'll know, won't we? For now, we keep investigating."

Dean's eyes found Cas' and he shot the other man an apologetic look.

"Whatever you say, Sam." Cas smiled.


	13. Chapter 13

_Hello! Gosh, thank you guys for your patience with this update; I've had an absolutely manic time recently, and haven't had the time to sit down and write anything at all, so thank you for waiting :) Just a warning, this chapter features some rather heavy smut which caused me to change the rating on this story. If you do not wish to read this chapter, you won't miss too much! If you do choose to read on, then... this is my first time writing this style so hopefully it's good... and hopefully you can forgive me!_

* * *

Of The Ocean

Chapter Thirteen

" _Throw him overboard" That same old voice. Harsh… what accent was that? Castiel squinted his eyes at the blurry figure, trying to uncover anything about this man who had haunted his dreams every night since he was saved. The surface, he'd recently realised was a huge metal table, was swaying violently underneath him, and he felt his abdomen muscles tighten reflexively in response, trying desperately to stay on top of it. His fingers felt heavy and soft. He couldn't control them. His arms lay lax and useless by his sides. This sedated state he found himself in was the most distressing part of this nightmare. He couldn't fight back. He couldn't fight for his life. He glimpsed a glint of light glance off a pair of thinly-rimmed glasses. The glare was bright enough to hide the eyes beneath, but Castiel persisted, feeling his eyes roam desperately about his perpetrator's face, taking in any detail he could before the inevitable sting of the water beneath. He caught a glimpse of a hard, thin mouth, turned down at the corners. He felt a sob leave him as his body was once again heaved from the table. 'No. No, please. Give me more time. Just ten more seconds. Please.' He begged before he was free falling through the air once more._

He shot awake, setting the springs in the mattress alight with high pitched squeaks. The duvet was curled about his feet, threatening to tip over the side. Castiel dragged the warm comfort back over his shivering body and lay on his side to gaze out of the window at the morning waves, as he always did. He often pictured Dean out there in his boat, reading, sipping black coffee from his thermos, gazing out over the water. Maybe Dean was thinking about him. Castiel felt himself smile at the swell he felt in his chest. His eyes slid to the painting that was propped against the windowpane, the one that Dean had bought him. He felt that familiar ache in his heart, his insides clenching tight. He sat up, reaching for the frame, before lying down once more and holding it close to his face under the covers. He ran his finger across each and every feather, delighting in the feeling of the dried paint; the unpredictable ridges, the twists and turns. This picture took him right back to that Christmas night on the sofa with Dean. How Castiel had resisted tickling Dean's feet, Dean's legs and their warm, heavy presence in his lap, the way Dean's cheeks had reddened just after the first _ding_ of the bell had broken the comfortable silence between them. He smiled, shaking his head as he remembered how Dean had chickened out, how he'd blamed himself, how he'd sulked and brooded. Castiel remembered how much his hands shook as he had yelled at Dean outside Rufus' barn on New Years Eve, and how much his heart had soared when he felt Dean's lips finally touch his own. He sighed and lay the picture down on the pillow. He dragged his hands over his face, and rubbed roughly. He gathered the duvet around himself and shuffled down the stairs, his cocoon slightly too wide for the space, causing him to bounce side to side from each wall. He chuckled to himself.

* * *

He'd settled himself in a toasty duvet-calzone on the sofa, a fire roaring in the corner, with a cup of tea steaming in his hands, which nearly went all over him when he heard the cabin door burst open. Turning around and seeing Dean, red-faced and soaked, stomping his feet on the floor, Castiel relaxed. He placed his mug down on the floor and gathered the duvet round himself again before standing and facing Dean.

"Oh my god, you look so warm." Dean whined, pushing his boots off his feet and shuffling towards him.

"Dean, you're all wet." Cas complained, not wanting to share his precious warmth, or ruin it with Dean's wet clothes.

"Cas." Dean groaned, crowding unnecessarily close to him, trying to force his way into Castiel's embrace.

"Can you at least take those wet clothes off?" Cas heard himself say, which caused a furious blush to creep up his neck.

"Christ, anything." Dean mumbled, already pulling at his clothes which clung to his frozen red skin. Castiel reached out and helped slide Dean's shirt down his arms, not missing the sudden hitch in Dean's breath.

"Right, can I come in now?" Dean begged, shivering profusely in nothing but his boxers, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Castiel chuckled and opened up the duvet cocoon. Dean blushed again, as he saw Castiel was as barely clad as he was, and shivered in delight when their skin collided; warm against frozen. Castiel wrapped his arms tightly around Dean, and rubbed up and down his back vigorously. He felt Dean's nose nuzzle into his neck, and moved to do the same. Dean had kept his icy hands to himself, not wanting to take any of Cas' warmth away, but he couldn't help it; he huffed a laugh when his hands touched Castiel's lower back and the other man let out a shriek.

"Sorry." He whispered into the smooth skin of Castiel's neck, placing a chaste kiss there by way of apology. His stomach lurched when he felt Castiel's lips lazily kiss his neck in reply. His heart rate grew heavy, and slowly gathered momentum as Cas trailed his lips along Dean's shoulder. Dean felt his own lips part, and heard himself moan quietly. He trailed his hands down further, shyly gripping Castiel's behind through the soft material of his boxers. He felt Castiel straighten, reaching his hands behind him to cover Dean's, squeezing harder; leading him, showing him. Castiel's moan was more of a growl, and Dean wanted to swallow that sound whole, he truly did. He moved forwards and kissed Castiel hungrily. The duvet had started to fall once Cas had covered Dean's hands with his own, but Cas broke the kiss to awkwardly lean down to lift it around them once more, before wrapping his arms tightly around Dean's shoulders, kissing him fervently. Dean felt his heart rate in his throat; felt his fingers knead Castiel's flesh, rough and slow. The smooth glide of Castiel's skin against his own was almost unbearable, and though Dean couldn't imagine anything better, he felt afraid, and began to pull away.

"No." Castiel mumbled dejectedly. Dean was breathing heavily, and though his hands didn't leave Castiel's body, he moved backwards to separate their bodies, to give himself some room to breathe. If only he could just get some air. Cas' eyes, half-lidded and screaming with want, met his own. Dean felt sick. His insides churned, and he was beginning to feel a little dizzy.

"Hey…" Cas' voice was a whisper of sea breeze, and Dean shivered. His hands began travelling up Castiel's back, down his sides, gripping fistfuls of skin.

"Dean."

Dean closed his eyes and inhaled the heady scent of Castiel in the morning. This feeling was suddenly overwhelming. He never wanted to lose this moment, he never wanted it to disappear. He didn't want _Cas_ to disappear. He shook his head slightly and moved his hands to frame Cas' face. Castiel's hand wound its way around his left wrist, and Dean finally opened his eyes.

"Dean, are you okay?"

"Cas… I..." He gazed deep into Castiel's eyes, gearing up to say… what? There was no articulating this. There was nothing he could say to make him understand. How his life began the first time he saw those eyes, how he found himself when he found Castiel. Where were the words for that? His brain began to fog, and all he could do was try and _show_ Cas how he was feeling. He was scared, _totally_ unprepared, but he followed his body, he went with his heart. He captured Castiel's lips once more in a searing kiss, crashing his body against Cas' once again.

"Dean…" Cas persisted in between kisses, "Dean!"

Dean couldn't speak. After a loaded silence, Castiel swallowed, considering his words.

"Are you sure?"

Dean felt himself nod, he had never been so sure and so frightened all at the same time.

"Follow me." He whispered, walking backwards slowly, pulling Dean with him. Dean's feet touched the rug (he'd found it when he was clearing out his living room. It was beautiful, a wine-red, covered with mock-Turkish design. Castiel had loved it when he saw it) and his toes reflexively curled into the soft material, burying deep. Castiel's hands at his wrists, brought his gaze back up, in time to see him make his way to the floor, coaxing Dean to follow. Dean lowered himself to the ground, to lie next to his gentle lover, facing him, drinking him in for the thousandth time. Castiel shuffled and pulled the remainder of the duvet out from underneath him, moving to drape it over the pair of them. Dean let himself melt into the warmth of Castiel's arms, and pressed closer to him. Castiel's arm was wrapped loosely around Dean, his fingers rubbing small circles in between his shoulder blades. Dean felt impatient, and reached for Cas' body like a spoilt child, his hands gripping tightly, dragging over Castiel's skin. When his lips found Dean's once more, Dean found himself impatient with that too. Castiel was treating him so gently, kissing him so softly, his fingers only ghosting over his skin, his polar opposite. Dean felt a storm rising inside, and pushed himself up, straddling Castiel, covering his smooth skin with fevered kisses, reveling in Castiel's surprise.

He'd wanted to lower Dean in gently, allow him to dip his toe before plunging in, but found he was enjoying Dean's method just as much. He didn't really know what he was doing, but he was taking his cues from the delicious sounds that Dean whispered against his skin. His fingers found their way into Dean's cotton-soft hair, even when it was damp, and he pulled Dean to face him, crashing their lips together again. He pulled Dean's bottom lip into his mouth, and reveled when he felt Dean melt against him, shivering when he felt the first signs of Dean's arousal press into his hip. He tilted his hips upwards in reply, and drank in Dean's gasp in surprise. Castiel's dragged his growing erection against Dean's, and felt his heart swell, his eyelids growing heavy.

"Yes." Dean whispered against Castiel's lips as he ground his hips down into Cas'. He felt euphoric. The primal heat that was building in the pit of his stomach was all he could concentrate on; that and the gentle groans falling from Castiel's lips. He knelt up, and gripped the elastic of Cas' underwear, starting to pull down. Castiel complied enthusiastically, raising his hips. He reached for Dean's boxers, but Dean had already hastily pushed them down his thighs. Instead, Castiel reached for the searing hot flesh of Dean's erection, now fully hard, and leaking a slow, steady stream of precum onto Cas' stomach. He wrapped his hand firmly around it, trailing his eyes down Dean's wide, muscular chest, to the heavy cock in his hand.

"Cas… Cas, move." Dean groaned, trailing his hands over Castiel's chest, his blunt fingernails dragging across his skin. He covered Castiel's hand with his own and lowered his hips to press Castiel's cock against his own, locked in the cage of their interlaced fingers.

Cas' mind was blown. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. All he could do was moan; often, and loudly, as Dean gently rocked his hips back and forth. He listened to Dean's ragged breaths, so heavy and they tickled his skin, which felt as if it were on fire. He pressed his thumb against the head of Dean's penis, and groaned louder when Dean mirrored him.

"Cas… tell me what you need." Dean rasped, the worry in his voice present, but not enough to stop him pushing his hips into Cas' hungrily.

Castiel just wanted to please. He just wanted to show Dean that he… worshipped him, that he craved him, longed for him. He let go of Dean's hand and buried both of his hands in the flesh of Dean's rear.

"I want to taste you, Dean." He replied quietly, pulling Dean closer to him by his hips. He didn't dare to look at Dean's face in response to his request, for fear it would finish this moment, and that would simply be unfair. He leant up on his elbows, as Dean gracefully maneuvered himself, straddling his ribs. Dean held his cock with one hand, whilst the other stroked Castiel's cheek, gently coaxing him forwards. Cas didn't need too much encouragement, and opened his mouth eagerly. He groaned low in his throat, when he felt Dean's cock push past the ring of his lips. Castiel traced the same path across the head as his thumb had. Imagining this moment and actually living it were further apart than Castiel had ever thought. He felt Dean's hand hold the back of his head; a gentle touch, with no impetuous behind it, a reassurance that he was feeling good. Cas experimented, sucking in his cheeks, pulling his lips back over his teeth and pulling off Dean's cock with a loud pop. He took in this sight to end all sights; Dean's head lolling back, his dick, glistening with Cas' saliva, twitching in front of him, the heaving breaths that racked Dean's body; expanding his ribs, widening his chest, which was covered with a deep red flush. The only part of Dean his hungry fingers could reach was his knees, and Cas was incredibly unsatisfied with that. He let his elbows release him to the ground, and then pressed his hands into Dean's hips, twisting them in an effort to wordlessly tell Dean what he wanted. Dean's head snapped forwards at the feeling, and moaned loudly, lowering himself atop Castiel again, to press a firm kiss against his lips, before turning around, letting his hips be guided by Cas' slim fingers, pulling him backwards. Once he was in position, he was straddled, suspended above Castiel's face. He pushed his cock back slightly, and Castiel met it hungrily with his mouth once more. He felt Cas shuffle forwards slightly, and then let out a long, low groan as he felt his cock slide down Cas' throat. Dean lowered himself, pressing his torso flush against his lover's, and wrapped a hand confidently around Castiel's neglected penis. He didn't know when his shyness had abated, couldn't pinpoint the exact moment where he knew that this was right, that he knew he could trust Castiel with all of him.

Castiel sucked and pumped Dean's cock slowly, agonizingly, and it took everything for Dean to keep his hips still. He could have exploded, ripped at the seams at the noise that Castiel produced when Dean lapped experimentally at the head of his cock. That was encouragement enough, and Dean held Cas' cock at the base, and copied Castiel's movements exactly, matched him for every lick, every pump, every stroke.

They writhed on the rug, the duvet wholly forgotten, basking in each other's pleasure. As much as Dean never wanted this to end, he was getting close to completion, and wanted to see Cas' face when he came. He pulled himself away from the other man, and shifted to lie down beside him. Cas immediately positioned himself on top of Dean, as they had started. Their cocks slid together, spit slick, and the two of them instinctively reached down to lock their fingers around each other. Castiel threw his head back with a moan as he thrust relentlessly into his and Dean's interlocked hands. Dean's hips bucked up to meet every thrust, filthy moans falling from his mouth, jaw falling slack.

"Fuck…" Cas rasped. It sounded so alien: until now they'd only communicated in moans of pleasure. Cas leant forwards, placing his other hand beside Dean's head as his hips bucked erratically.

"Cas," Dean moaned, finally releasing when he felt Castiel cum in hot streams across his stomach.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." Castiel breathed, rolling off of Dean, and flopping down on his back beside him.

"Shit…" Dean replied, laughing quietly. Castiel rolled over again, to press a kiss to Dean's cheek, throwing his arm across his chest. He smiled to himself when he felt Dean's heart hammering against his skin. He felt Dean thread an arm about his shoulders, pulling him closer.

Castiel closed his eyes and tried desperately not to shudder when he saw a glare of light from a pair of thin-rimmed glasses.


	14. Chapter 14

_Me again! We're nearly at the end of this story, guys! To celebrate, I have been working on a playlist to go with this story, so if that's something you guys are interested in, let me know and I'll try my best to perfect it and... make it available to you somehow! Thanks again for your patience, and your continuing support. Love 3_

* * *

Of The Ocean

Chapter Fourteen

Dean drove to collect Sam from school, later than usual since his younger brother had had his first swimming lesson with the swim team. He knew Sam had been nervous, but after a few more sessions with Cas, he also knew that his brother had begun to conquer his fear, and for that he felt immensely proud. He couldn't shake stupid grin from his face when he thought of Castiel again, the way his body fit with his, the way he'd gripped Dean for dear life, the way his heart had threatened to implode. He wondered why he didn't feel embarrassed, hadn't hesitated… to be that way with a man. It was something about Castiel; he broke the rules, he transcended petty issues like gender, sexuality… he just _was_. And Dean… he knew now, for sure, that he loved Cas. Every fibre of his being was alive with it. He drifted, afloat for the rest of the afternoon; chuckling shyly whenever Cas touched him. This was it. _This_ is what he'd been missing his whole life. It was beautiful. It was fucking fantastic. The sun was peaking out from the clouds, casting everything in a hundred shades of gold, glinting off the hood of Dean's beat-up old car. He tapped the steering wheel joyfully, reaching down and turning up the volume on his radio. He sang his heart out, _this is the first day of my life, I'm glad I didn't die before I met you._ He made a mental note to turn this sappy shit off before Sammy arrived.

* * *

Sam bundled his towel and swimming shorts into a plastic bag, attaching it to his backpack. He'd been terrified of the prospect of swimming with the team, and even though he spent the whole session at the shallow end with the youngest members (and had felt incredibly embarrassed about it) he had caught eyes with Jessica several times, and he could have sworn he saw her smile at him. Even with his stupid armbands, surrounded by kids half his age, his hair slicked back in a swimming cap… she'd smiled at him. More than once. It was enough to make him forget how awkward he'd felt. He'd have to thank Cas when he got to the cabin; to tell him that he'd been right all along. He had to stop himself from skipping to Dean's car, but he couldn't stop the stupid grin on his face.

"Hey!" he sang, climbing into the passenger seat and slamming the door behind him.

"So? How was it?" Dean chuckled, mussing Sam's hair affectionately. Sam scrunched his face in annoyance and batted his hand away.

"Ah, it was fine." He grinned. Dean laughed, a louder laugh than Sam had heard from him in a while.

"You not going to give me any more details than that, Sammy boy?" Dean cried, jamming his elbow into Sam's side.

"Nothing to tell." Sam teased coyly. He turned to look out of the window as Dean started up the car, smiling to himself.

* * *

"How'd it go, Sam?" Castiel called from upstairs when he heard the front door open.

"Fine, thanks, Cas. I'll talk to you about it later!" Sam shouted up the stairs.

"Oh what? Cas gets to know, and I don't?" Dean protested loudly as he came through the door.

"Cas is a good listener, Dean!" Sam teased, flopping onto the couch.

"Cas, where are you?" Dean shouted.

"In the bath..." came Castiel's slightly bashful reply. Dean smiled shyly to himself, before hurrying up the stairs.

"Oh my god, gross." Sam murmured to nobody before making a swift exit. Once outside the cabin, the only place to go was down, so down he went, towards the ocean.

Sam found himself thinking about selkies again, as he stumbled across the pebbled beach, shivering as the wind tore through his damp hair. He wondered what a sealskin would look like if he came across one. Looking around, there were lots of piles of… stuff littered across the shore. On closer inspection, they were mostly piles of slimy kelp, which Sam poked around in with his shoe. Apart from disturbing a tiny crab (answered with a yelp from Sam) he didn't find anything. The sun set the surface of the water shimmering like a gleaming mirror, and Sam found himself having to shield his eyes. Would he tell Castiel if he'd found his skin? If he knew… would he leave? Sam sniffed and kicked a pebble at the thought. He remembered what Dean's life was like before he found Cas… just one dreary day after the next. When he wasn't on the boat, he was sitting alone in the house as it fell apart around him, keeping up the stories of his latest DIY projects, whilst cringing inside because he knew he was lying through his teeth. Sam remembered how hard it was on Bobby and Ellen to see him pretend, how much of a toll it took on Jo when her efforts to cheer him up fell short. When Cas showed up, it was like someone switched on the light. Cas had reconnected Dean to his old self. The one that cared about himself as well as others. The house was almost finished, and most of Sam's stuff was now moved in, Bobby and Ellen were smiling again, Jo and Dean's friendship had been rekindled… and that was all down to Castiel… this mysterious man who'd stolen his brother's heart.

The pebbles beneath his scruffy trainers clacked together noisily, a delightful sort of sound when combined with the steady breathing of the sea. Sam closed his eyes to listen. He could see why Cas loved this place so much. A few months ago, Sam wouldn't have had the patience to stand still let alone _listen_ to the sea. He regretted it. He regretted how he'd acted, how uncomfortable he had made life for Bobby and Ellen… he realised with sudden clarity that this was one of those epiphany moments… was he meant to shout _Eureka_? He hugged his coat closer around himself, and dug his hands deep into the pockets. He glanced back up to the cabin, and remembered how angry he'd been that Dean had marred that place with a stranger's presence. To sam, the cabin was a sacred secret. Nobody knew about it except for the Winchesters. He flinched when he recalled how he'd acted around Castiel when they first met. He'd yelled, told him to get out, had given him a half-arsed apology… turned a 180 and built a fort with him like a five year old. Even then, Cas had just accepted him… hadn't tried to change him, or fix him. There was just something about Cas… he was so much more than a person. It sounded stupid as soon as he thought it, but it sort of made sense; his inexhaustible kindness, his power for forgiveness, his open-mindedness. It seemed to him that Castiel never had a bad thought about _anyone,_ had never done _anything_ to hurt someone, and never would. Yeah, it was fair to say that he really liked Cas.

He turned from the cabin, and ambled over to the rocks that framed the dock, remembering how he used to do this with Dean when they were younger. They'd scramble up the rocks, not caring for the grazes, the bumps or the knocks, and would peer into the hundreds of rock pools that lay scattered about the surface, looking for hidden treasures. He guessed he would like to touch an anemone again if he saw one. That was when he spotted it; a grey-green mass tossed over one of the larger rocks at the edge of the shore. He gasped, and ran as best he could towards it. He scrabbled up the rocks, and reached out to curl his fingers around the strange material. He picked it up and held it out in front of his face to inspect. It was a large, intact sheet of sleek-looking… fur? He stroked it, and was surprised to discover that it was warm to the touch… like touching a person. _Oh god,_ he thought, _what now?_

* * *

Dean peeked sheepishly round the bathroom door to find Castiel hunched over the side of the bath, holding a book to the edge.

"Hey." He called, causing Castiel's head to snap up to face him, "Sorry. Mind if I come in?"

Castiel's features relaxed into an ample smile, and Dean would have been lying if he said he hadn't swallowed heavily at the sight of Castiel's lean back as he turned to place his book on the toilet seat behind his head. "Of course not." Despite his apparent confidence of a few hours previous, Castiel found himself growing bashful; tucking his legs up in an attempt to save some dignity. Dean stepped into the room, gently pushing the door closed behind him, and knelt beside the tub, resting his forearms on the edge, nestling his cheek there.

"Hello." He offered meekly, feeling so relaxed in Castiel's presence that he felt his eyelids droop shut.

"Yes, hello, Dean." Cas chuckled, shifting so he could rest his cheek on the edge of the tub too, wanting to be closer to him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, more amused than concerned. Dean simply smiled and nodded. Castiel watched, as Dean released one of his arms to gently trail the tips of his fingers through the water. Castiel captured Dean's hand in both of his, bringing it up to his lips. He kissed each knuckle in turn, before holding it against his chest, the inside of which felt soft like marshmallow. Dean was everything to him; he'd said it once, and he wouldn't hesitate in saying it again. Everything between them had changed; they knew one another now, knew those secret intricacies that make up a human being, understood the passion they held for one another. With Dean… it wasn't just love, it was… he couldn't explain. Castiel felt like love was too common a word to describe how he felt. People could still find it in themselves to hurt those they profess to love. No, love was too unstable, too ordinary. He knew, intrinsically (like one knows when they are hot or cold, when they are hungry or full) that he would never hurt Dean. Would never betray him. Could never leave him. People in love do those things to one another all the time. He untangled one of his hands to run it through Dean's hair, and smiled warmly when Dean rolled his shoulders and pushed his head into Castiel's hand.

"We should go to the market this weekend." Dean slurred quietly, his mouth feeling slack, his tongue heavy in his mouth thanks to Castiel's hand in his hair.

Castiel ran his fingers over Dean's hand, resting heavily on his chest. He remembered going to the market once before. He loved the bustle, the noise, the smells.

"I'd like that very much." He murmured happily, pressing a kiss to Dean's elbow; the only place he could reach without having to move. "And the others? They'll come too?"

Dean's face was the picture of serenity as his eyes opened, his head lifting slowly. "Yeah, Ellen can't resist the market." He mumbled contentedly. Castiel let his hand fall from Dean's hair, let it guide him across the strong, weathered lines of Dean's face. His fingertips graced Dean's hairline, falling to Dean's stubbly cheek. Dean turned and placed a kiss to his palm. Castiel raised his head, and felt Dean's hands cup his cheeks. Dean leant over the edge of the bath to rest his forehead against Cas', who nuzzled his nose into Dean's in response. Dean tilted his head and pressed his lips to Castiel's in a gentle, lingering kiss. Both men breathed deep, before they parted lips to deepen the kiss. It was unhurried, and their lips glided effortlessly over one another. Dean kissed with a delicacy that Castiel hadn't felt before, and he felt himself melt entirely beneath the soft caress of his lips. As Castiel shifted to lean further into the kiss, he heard the front door open and close. He scrunched his eyes against everything that wasn't Dean, but to no avail; Sam's voice broke the spell, and the kiss: " _Some_ of us are wondering where the heck dinner is." Dean chuckled, pressing a kiss to Castiel's forehead before standing up to leave. Castiel watched him go, slumped against the side of the bath and aching all over.

* * *

After a dinner from the chippy down the road, the evening relaxed into gentle conversations about the market, memories, Sam's experience with the swim team ("I'm not telling you, Dean, just let it go!"). The fire roared away, making the room flicker and dance. Sam was sprawled on the new rug, like a cat in front of the fire. Dean didn't have the heart to tell him why he might not want to be on that rug, deciding to tuck it away for a rainy-day comeback. Cas was in his usual spot, curled in the armchair with his slender hands cradling a mug of cocoa, listening intently to the two brothers. He smiled sadly, trying to remember if he had a brother he should miss. Was there a time in his life when he'd teased and joked and cared about someone like Dean did for Sam? What of parents? The only memories he had was that stupid boat, that pair of spangle-y glasses, and a faint whisper of a woman's voice, singing a song he knew by heart, but had no idea what it meant. He exhaled, dejected and tired, draining the last of his cocoa and making a move to stand up. The thing about feeling sad for things you don't remember is that there's no end to it. There would never be any answers to his questions, no matter how hard he wished for them. When Dean raised his eyebrows in his direction, Castiel muttered some lame excuse about having a headache, before disappearing upstairs.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he must've done because when he opened his eyes again, the room was lit by a solitary candle, and Dean was pressed close to his back. The cabin was silent; so silent that the hiss of the waves was almost deafening. Castiel rolled onto his back as best he could, what with Dean giving him all of three inches to work with. He felt restless and decided to head out for a wander. He carefully untangled himself from Dean's weighty limbs, shivering as the cold air hit his bare skin. He leant down and pulled on his socks and thick woolen trousers. His dark maroon jumper was slung over the end of the bed frame, and he shoved it over his head as he tiptoed over to the candle. He held it out in front of him as he made his way carefully down the stairs. Sam was barely distinguishable shape on the sofa, wrapped in several thick blankets and snoring loudly. The fire had died down to a few glowing embers, all of its warmth dissipated. Castiel bent down and pulled on his boots and trench coat, before grabbing the torch and heading outside.

He walked easily down the path now; he had spent a good few weekends tending to the front garden, pulling up the weeds, trimming back stalks to allow for new growth. He found it incredibly satisfying. Dean had said he would bring some seeds home one day so that Castiel could plant his own flowers out there. His feet crunched along the stony path, disturbing night owls who hooted as he passed. He remembered the first time he picked his way down to the shore; how impressive, how intimidating the rocks had seemed. Now, he ran his fingers along them as he walked, reveling in their cold, slightly damp touch.

Once he'd made it to the edge of the dock, he sat and stared out at the great nothingness that stretched out in front of him. If it weren't for the moon tipping the waves with white, this nothingness would open into an abyss and threaten to swallow him whole, Castiel was sure. The only sound for miles was the gentle breathing of the sea. In, out. In, out. Castiel mimicked this rhythm exactly, and let his eyes fall closed. The spray from the waves gently brushed against his face, and he tilted his chin up to receive its gentle caresses.

" _Throw him overboard…"_

" _Cas…"_

" _Who am I?"_

" _He's a selkie…"_

" _Cas…"_

" _hide the skin…"_

" _How do we know that, Jones…"_

" _What I feel inside me? It's intense…"_

" _Cas…"_

" _Throw him overboard…"_

" _Selkie…"_

" _Cas…"_

" _hide the skin…"_

" _Who am I?"_

Castiel shook his head, as if he could shake these voices out of his mind. They haunted him, and taunted him at night. He felt more confused than he'd ever felt; he couldn't make sense of it all. His legs dangled over the edge, kicking back and forth in a relaxed rhythm. Being here, beside the water, felt like coming home. He couldn't deny it. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe he really was of the ocean. He didn't know much about Selkies, except for what Sam had told him. He'd said something about… if he found his… skin… and hid it, he could stay here forever. With Dean. He felt his facial features soften entirely, from worry into reverie, as he remembered their union that morning. _God, this is madness._ He wish he could explain everything away; where that song had come from and what on earth it meant and why the fish somehow understood… why he was drawn to the sea, why he was never cold in it. He ran his hands over his face. Maybe just forgetting about the whole thing was the right thing to do. He patted himself down: _Look,_ he said to himself, _you're a human. There's no such thing as a selkie._ He was starting something good here; he had a family in Dean and Sam, friends in Jo, Ellen and Bobby. It was a waste of time feeling sad and confused about things he would never remember. He recalled how he'd begged Dean not to take him to the hospital when he was first found. He hadn't really thought about that moment much, until this silence gave him pause. He put it down to the inevitable embarrassment he would experience when he wouldn't be able to provide any information about himself or his situation… it would have led to questions he wouldn't have had the answers to. How different his life would have been if Dean had taken him anyway. Where would he have ended up? Would've the doctors been able to reverse some of his memory loss? _We can never know what we can never know,_ Castiel thought to himself, feeling pretty blessed to have chosen the path he did. _Who am I? I am Castiel,_ he recited hesitantly.

"Cas?!"

 _Yes, Cas. Castiel. That is my name._

"Cas!"

Castiel shook his head, and looked around, spotting Dean and Sam scrabbling down the rocks towards the shore, using their phone-screens to light the way. He stood and waved. Dean stumbled over to him, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

"Oh, God, Cas, I was so worried." He whispered.

"Worried? What on earth about?" Castiel chuckled.

"You disappeared, man. You… you left." Dean squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out that awful mantra: _Once he's on his feet, he's gone._

"I was having trouble sleeping…" Castiel spread his hands, "I'm sorry, Dean."

"No bother," Dean replied, straightening up and patting Castiel's shoulder, "you're alright. Come on, let's get you inside." He wound an arm around Castiel's shoulders and held him close. Sam looked after them, but made no move to join them as they passed him.

"Come on, Sammy." Dean called, not looking back.

"Cas…" Sam said, his voice barely audible above the waves. Castiel turned around, instantly making his way over to the young boy, who stood like a child who'd lost their favourite toy.

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean asked, frowning in concern.

"Cas… I…" Sam scuffed his shoes over the pebbles, his eyes cast downwards.

"Sam?" Castiel placed a hand on Sam's shoulder to try and comfort him. Whatever he wanted to say, Castiel wanted to make sure he felt safe enough to say it. Sam's eyes were watery when he raised his head; lit by the moon, just like the sea.

"Cas… I found your sealskin."


	15. Chapter 15

Of The Ocean

Chapter Fifteen

"You what?" Castiel laughed, "Please tell me you're joking." The serious look on Sam's face told him that he wasn't fooling around. Castiel felt his laugh die in his throat, his smile falling sharply from his face. Dean groaned,

"We're not still on this are we?"

"I hid it." Sam confessed, biting his lip nervously. "I'll show you." Castiel looked to Dean, but saw no ounce of belief in his eyes. He shrugged at Dean and turned to follow Sam. Dean threw his hands above his head in annoyance and followed begrudgingly with a muttered "Couldn't it wait until morning?"

Sam shone the light from his phone at the cluster of rocks he'd previously found the skin strewn across. He'd hidden it at the foot of the pile, and crouched to begin looking. It was hard to tell what was what by the pale light of the moon and the dim light from his phone screen, but when his fingers touched upon the sealskin he recognised it instantly. He pulled it from behind the rock and held it up for Dean and Castiel to inspect.

Castiel felt a tightening in his chest as he reached for the skin, running his hands across the soft, warm fur. He held it to his face and buried his nose in it, breathing deeply. It smelt musty and damp, but he couldn't deny there was an air of familiarity lurking there too. Dean's complaining had fallen quiet as he stared, slack-jawed at the supposed sealskin. He frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. None of this made any sense.

"Does someone mind explaining what on earth is going on here?" he demanded, watching Castiel's features soften into a pensive expression. Sam held the other end of the skin and brandished it in Dean's direction as he spoke,

"Don't you see? Cas _is_ a selkie. This is his sealskin."

"Hold on just a hot second-"

"No, Dean! This is his. If we bury it, it means he can stay here with us. Right, Cas? It's yours, isn't it?" Sam turned pleading eyes to Castiel, who was picking thoughtfully at the fur in his hands. He truly wasn't sure how to answer the Winchesters' questions. He turned the fur over in his hands, his brow furrowed in thought. He couldn't help but feel somewhat connected to this… thing. He also couldn't think of any other explanation as to why. He guessed Sam had to be right. He nodded, not wanting to meet Dean's eyes.

"What?" Dean groaned, "Guys, this isn't actually… selkies are a myth, they don't exist!" he reasoned, his patience with this whole farce growing shorter by the second.

"Dean… maybe Sam really _is_ right about this." Cas murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No! No, he's not! And do you want to know why? This-" he took the sealskin from Castiel's hands and shook it in front of his face, punctuating every word, "this is a jumper, washed ashore. It's a blanket. It's a sheepskin rug. It's anything but a fucking _skin_ that you shed when I saved you. This is bullshit, Cas, you're a human being!"

For a long time, the only sound between the three of them was Dean's heaving breaths. Sam's quiet voice broke the silence,

"Help us bury it anyway? Just to be safe?"

* * *

When morning broke through the window of the cabin, Dean instantly opened his eyes. He wasn't so used to the sun waking him up in the morning; so often he was up and out before it was light. He closed his eyes again, and sighed heavily as memories from the night before flooded his mind. He rubbed a hand over his eyes as he recalled how he'd agreed to bury the stupid _sealskin_. The three of them had found an alcove in the cliff, covered by a large rock. They'd dug with their hands, through one of the only patches of sand on the beach, smoothing the ground out with their shoes afterwards. The only good thing to come out of it was that Sam looked at peace once they had finished. He'd pushed himself underneath Castiel's arm and wrapped his arms around Cas' waist, holding him tight. "Now you can stay with us for as long as you want." He'd heard Sam whisper. Dean felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, despite himself. As mad as his actions were, Dean saw that all of this was just Sam's way of begging Castiel to stay.

Dean opened his eyes, turning his head to look at his blissful lover, caught in the cradle of a peaceful sleep for once. He turned to face him, lifting his hand to stoke the back of his knuckles across Castiel's smooth skin. He shuffled closer, so that they were nose to nose, and slung his arm loosely over Cas' waist, letting his fingers trail lightly across the sleep-warm skin of his back. He wanted nothing more than for Castiel to wake up so that they could revisit some of the places they'd explored yesterday. It was selfish, but Dean was entirely enthralled, bewitched by this man. He'd won Dean's heart, fair and square. He rubbed his nose against Castiel's and kissed him gently, trying to coax him awake. He heard Castiel breathe long and loud through his noise before cracking an eye open.

"Hey," Dean whispered, trying his best not to blow his morning breath directly into Cas' face. Cas rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, and stretched languidly beside him, which Dean took as an opportunity to wrap himself more tightly around him. He lay his head on Castiel's warm chest and sighed contentedly when he felt Cas' arms fall around his shoulders, holding him close.

"Good morning," he whispered back, his breath ruffling Dean's hair. Dean could have positively purred when Castiel's deft fingers crept up his neck and tangled in his hair.

"You were sleeping well just then." Dean smiled against the smooth skin of Castiel's chest, pressing soft kisses where he could reach. Castiel's hum in response reverberated through to Dean's lips, making them tingle, "I'm sorry for waking you."

"S'fine." Castiel mumbles into Dean's hair, "I… um, I don't remember having that dream once we got back…"

Dean leans up to look at Cas' face, unable to think of anything to say.

"I think it's the first time I haven't dreamt it since you saved me…" Castiel smiles, pulling Dean down for a kiss. The kiss is long and slow, their lips hardly parting. Dean can feel his arousal pooling in his stomach from the unhurried drag of Castiel's lips against his own. From his position, draped half over his lover, he can also feel Castiel hardening against his hip and he groans in approval. Dean pushes his hardening member against Castiel's hip in response, shuddering at the delicious friction. Dean whines when he feels Cas pull away, but is quickly grinning again when Cas whispers, "Do we have time?" whilst clutching at the flesh of Dean's rear.

"All the time in the world," Dean murmurs back, surging forward for another impassioned kiss.

* * *

The market is swarming with sounds and smells and bodies wrapped tightly in waterproof coats. Behind the stalls were traders enthusiastically flogging their wares; everything from hand-carved wooden sculptures to exotic flavours of home-brew. Castiel walked slowly, his arm linked with Jo's once again. They were a few paces behind the others, but had settled into a comfortable companionship.

"So, you and Dean, huh?" she questions, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. Castiel could only blush in response.

"Does that mean you're _never_ going back to England?" This question caught Castiel momentarily off-guard. He'd totally forgotten that the rest of the family still believed Castiel was here on holiday. He scoffed and shrugged: "I guess not."

"But… I mean, don't you have people over there who miss you?" she insisted, now gripping tightly to his arm with both of hers. Castiel searched quickly for something to change the subject.

"Oooh, look, this wooden duck has wellies on!" he exclaimed, rushing over to it, feeling a little bit of genuine excitement. Jo rolled her eyes, letting herself be dragged along.

* * *

A few hours later saw the family gathered on top of a large, rocky cliff that overhung the sea. The grass here was soft and long, and Ellen had brought a tartan blanket and Castiel thought this was simply perfect. There wasn't too much wind, and the sun was warming his back, and he was surrounded by people he loved. Dean had introduced Castiel to Charlie back at the market, and he'd actually found her rather delightful once she'd told him she was a lesbian (he'd tried to hide his sigh of relief but he wasn't sure how well that'd gone). They'd talked about Dean's school years; how he thought he was a bad boy with his leather jacket and cigarettes. Cas had beamed at that image; Dean was every bit the polar opposite of who he was then, and it amused him to imagine Dean smoking and staying out late, drinking home brew and trying to get into girls' pants.

Ellen had bought some freshly baked rye bread from the bakery, and had picked up a selection of local cheeses and meats, and the whole lot of them tucked in, lazily picking, sharing and laughing. Castiel thought he might cry with happiness. This was his life, and it was bloody brilliant. Dean was sat close to him now, threading his fingers through Cas' behind his back. Cas glanced at him, and caught one of Dean's infectious laughs as he guffawed at one of Bobby's terrible jokes.

Sam had been poking around at the edge of the cliff, and Dean had been turning around every few seconds just to check he was still there. Which he was. Good. Sam lifted a hand and motioned Dean towards him.

"Be right back," he smiled to Cas, squeezing his hand tightly before unraveling their fingers. He approached Sam, eyeing the 'Danger! Lose rocks!" sign with caution, deciding not to walk too much further. He decided a few meters from the edge would probably be okay.

"What's up, Sammy?"

"You know, the older kids, the sixth form kids, they come here just before they leave for college. They all jump together. Isn't that cool?" Sam was grinning, but Dean felt worried.

"Um, not quite the word I'd use," Dean offered, uncertain, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Do you reckon I could?" Dean frowned at that question. He really hoped his little brother wasn't actually considering this.

"I mean, you _could_ but that doesn't mean you should." He reasoned.

"Just to see what it's like-"

"Sam, stop it, come away from there." Dean snapped, instantly regretting it.

"Oh, come on, Dean, it's totally fine! All the kids at school do it." Sam shouted over the wind that blew a sudden gust over the cliff, blowing his mop of unruly hair back from his face.

"Sam, I don't think this is such a good idea!" Dean asserted loudly, "How about when you've had a few more lessons-"

"What's the point in living if I can't live, Dean? Come on, it'll be fun." Sam grinned wildly. Dean did not share his enthusiasm.

"You don't know what's down there, Sam, it's dangerous!" he insisted, taking a step towards Sam, his hand outstretched.

"I need to conquer my fear somehow, right?" Damn, he was persistent.

"Please let's just conquer it more safely, huh? I don't feel good about this." Dean smiled tightly, trying to keep the fear he felt from tainting his voice.

"Ah, alright, spoil sport." Sam said, throwing his hands above his head and making to walk back towards the group. Suddenly, Sam's eyes widened in panic as the edge of the cliff crumbled beneath him, fell away. He felt his foot slide.

"Sammy?!" Dean yelled, panic saturating his voice. He heard Ellen scream.

And Sam was gone.

"Sam!" he cried, running towards the edge of the cliff. Castiel bounded after him without a moment's hesitation, and threw himself after Sam.

"Cas? No! Cas!" he heard Dean shout, before he hit the water. Sam was barely afloat, struggling for air as the waves tore over his head and pushed him under mercilessly, gasping desperately for air, but only managing to swallow water. He choked and gagged, and his lungs burned for want of oxygen. The edges of his mind darkened, his vision tunneling. He saw the waves hurl and tumble about him, and he was powerless to stop them. This was it. _This is it._

Castiel felt strangely calm as he hit the water. He just had to find Sam. He cast his sights about quickly, his face set in grim determination. _Just find Sam._ He saw the top of Sam's head a few moments later, and immediately threw himself into a hasty front crawl. The trench coat made Castiel's arms heavy as it drank the water greedily. He shrugged it off as he swam franticly towards Sam.

"Sam!" he called, his voice breaking. His breathing was labored, his heart in his throat as he wrapped his arms and legs around Sam, bringing him to the surface. He was deadweight, his eyes closed. Castiel couldn't tell if he was breathing, but everything within him screamed for him to just get him to the shore. To his brother. To safety. He looped one arm around Sam's middle, struggling to keep him above the surface.

"We're almost there." He babbled, "Hang in there, Sam, we're almost there."

* * *

Dean's feet carried him down to the shore of their own accord. He thought of nothing except his baby brother's eyes just before he tumbled into the sea below. Just like that. One moment he was there, the next he was gone. He was shaking all over, his stomach an empty pit of despair. _Please, God. Don't take him from me too. Please, God, please,_ he prayed. _Please. Spare him._ His legs didn't stop at the shore, but carried him, stumbling into the sea, waist-deep. Castiel had covered the distance at an impressive rate. He lifted his brother's heavy body from Cas' grip and carried him to land.

Castiel stood, throwing his body through the water to get to Sam, now lying motionless in Dean's arms, his arm sickening limp where it swung, lifeless, just out of Dean's grasp.

The tide washed over his feet as Dean lay his brother down on the stones and desperately felt for a pulse, choking on his sobs. Castiel saw everyone gathered a few paces up the beach; saw Jo scream and cover her face with her hands. He saw Bobby remove his hat and hold it against his chest, his face stone-cold, while Ellen gripped his arm, holding her hand over her mouth as an endless stream of tears cascaded down her cheeks and neck. His legs felt heavy as stone, and he stood, helpless, ankle-deep in the water, not wanting to look for fear his heart would break but also being unable to tear his eyes away.

Dean felt a sharp pang of déjà vu as he knelt over his brother's body, already performing CPR. Just like he had done with Castiel all those months ago. _Please, God, please. Let him live. Please. I'm begging you. I'll do anything,_ his mind raced. He pushed on his brother's chest in a consistent rhythm, pausing to hold his nose and breathe more oxygen into his lungs. His heart beat in a frenzied dance against his ribcage, and his tears flowed hot and fast down his cheeks.

"Come on Sammy, come on." He muttered gruffly, "Don't do this now, bud, come on."

The world narrowed to his hands pressing against Sam's chest, the sound of his breath flowing through Sam's body, the constriction of his heart as panic rose to white noise in his ears. Memories flashed before him; memories of carrying Sam to bed, holding him at night when the world had closed in around them, laughing with him over supper, singing with him in his car on the way home whilst air-drumming against the steering wheel, watching him leave for his first day of school, sitting on the hood of his car in the middle of nowhere watching the stars with a thermos filled with tea, Christmas at the cabin, falling asleep with him after staying up late swapping ghost stories in their fort. He would do anything, _anything_ to make sure Sam made it through this. He _had_ to make it through this.

"Sam, Christ, please. Wake up, Sam." He sobbed, "What am I without you, huh? You've got to wake up, Sammy, I'm begging you." He leant down and breathed another bout of air through his brother, his tears splashing against Sam's cheeks.

As if on cue, Sam's eyes flew open and he immediately doubled over, spluttering and choking on water, which was flowing right out of him like a stream.

"Oh my god." Dean wept, his cry lost in the flurry of movement and shouts from everyone else running to help. Castiel dropped to his knees beside Sam, supporting him and rubbing his back to help expel the water from his lungs. Ellen fell to her knees beside Castiel, her hands roaming madly across Sam's face, in his hair, as she laughed in relief through her tears. Bobby placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, and squeezed hard enough to bruise. Dean gripped Bobby's hand with his own and held on tightly while a mantra of _thank you, God, thank you_ played on loop in his head. Jo had positioned herself behind Sam, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and was pressing desperate kisses to his cheek, unraveling her grip every few seconds as Sam leant forward to cough up more water, which burnt his throat painfully all the way from the bottom of his lungs.

Relief washed over and over Castiel's heart, like the tide. He took huge gulps of air to try and steady his shaking limbs. Sam's breath rattled and bubbled in his chest as he sighed, closing his eyes and finally resting against Jo.

Dean smoothed his brother's hair down, his smile trembling like his fingers.

"Thank god you're okay." He whispered. Castiel reached out to cover Dean's hand with his own as it rested gently on Sam's chest. Dean threaded his fingers through Castiel's, his bloodshot eyes shining with never-ending tears. _Thank you_ he mouthed, giving Cas' hand a squeeze.

A stern voice broke through the air like a clap of thunder, "Dmitri Krushnic?"

Everyone raised their heads instantly at the sound of the foreign voice. It belonged to a police officer, one of two who stood just behind the circle the family had made around Sam. Bobby cleared his throat,

"Sorry, officer, there's nobody here by that name." his voice was shaky, but respectful, "If you'll pardon us, we've just suffered a near-" he trailed off as the officer raised his hand to point straight at Castiel. Sam sat upright, and stared with everyone else.

"He's right there." He declared, matter-of-factly. Castiel felt his jaw fall open, his eyes widening in panic, looking to Dean for any sort of help.

"Sorry, what's going on, officer?" Ellen frowned, her voice clipped.

"There must be some sort of mistake-" Dean began, his hands travelling up Castiel's arms and gripping tightly.

"Nope, that's him alright." The officer replied, his mouth turning down at the corners, "Sir, would you mind coming with us?" He leveled his cold gaze to Castiel.

"Dean… Dean what's happening?" Cas' heard his voice rising in panic.

"Sir, you're under arrest under suspicion of your involvement in illicit drug activity. You do not have to say anyth-"

"What? Dean! That's… this isn't happening, I'm not who you think I am!" Castiel yelled over the officer's monotone voice. He heard Dean murmur his name, his voice dripping with disbelief and it tore through his heart like a knife.

"Please, you have to understand, I'm not… Dean, tell them! Tell them who I am!" He gripped desperately at Dean's arms, sobbing at the loss of contact when his fingers were ripped from the damp material of Dean's shirt as his arms were tugged roughly behind his back.

"You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defense if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?" The policeman recited, pulling Castiel to his feet.

Dean's throat went dry at the sight of sheer terror in Castiel's eyes. He stood with the rest of his family and watched hopelessly as the officer handcuffed Castiel and pulled him to his feet.

"No…" he whimpered.

"Dean!" Castiel cried, "Dean, help me!" He stumbled as he was dragged up the beach toward the gathering crowd of townsfolk. Dean suddenly felt his body awaken with a jolt, and he tore after him, leaving his family stood around Sam, aghast. He grabbed the officer's arm that held Castiel hostage and tried to force it away.

"Get off him! Let go, you son of a bitch, you got the wrong man! Let go!" he yelled, pushing, pulling, gripping, tugging with all his might. He felt a shove to his shoulder as the other policeman stepped between him and Castiel.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask that you step away-"

"Cas!" he croaked, fresh tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He felt bile rise in his throat when he realised there was nothing more he could do. He closed his eyes against the world, willing all of this to be a bad dream. When he opened them again, he saw the whole nightmare was in fact very, very real. Streams of tears fell down his cheeks as he felt the walls come tumbling down around him.

"Dean! Dean, please! Dean!" Cas' voice sobbed desperately in response. Dean saw him struggle against his restraints but it made no difference. Dean fell to his knees and watched as Castiel was guided into the back of a police car and driven away. He never stopped screaming Dean's name.


	16. Chapter 16

_Here we are then, the final chapter! Thank you so much for all your on-going support, it really does mean the world to me! I have created a FanMix for this fic, and if you are interested in reading this again with the painstakingly put-together soundtrack, then I have provided a link at the top of chapter 1 for your delectation and delight. For now, so long! Hope you enjoy 3_

* * *

Of The Ocean

Chapter Sixteen

 _A Few Weeks Later_

Dean doesn't fight to get out of bed most days anymore. He doesn't see the point. He hadn't set foot on his boat since he'd tried the day after _Market Day,_ as he'd taken to calling it. He'd howled into the wind, gripping the rails with an iron grip, so tight he thought he might be able to bend it. His mind was overflowing with thoughts, but mostly he wanted to climb over the other side of that rail and throw himself into the watery depths. So, no, he hadn't been on his boat since then. It stayed tied to the dock by the cabin.

Unlike the boat, the cabin was somewhere he wanted to stay because the burn he felt in his heart when he was there reminded him that this was real, that he was alive. He tormented himself by staying there, reveled in the torture. He plagued his heart by sleeping in the bed that Castiel had slept in, that Dean had shared with him only a handful of times (God, he'd wasted so much time _not_ being in bed with Cas…); by standing in the middle of the living room hour after hour staring at the armchair where Castiel used to curl up in the evening, where Dean had laid him the very first day they'd met. The rug teased him with the memories of that blissful afternoon where he'd tried to taste every inch of Castiel's body that he could find. He had to stop himself from burning it more than once. He would gather Castiel's jumpers and press them close to his face; inhaling deeply and then screaming into them until his lungs hurt. Hoping to suffocate. Hoping to get away from this world that had known Cas, but was now achingly empty without him.

At night he'd drive with all of the windows down, trying to dry out his eyes because he was so sick of them being sodden with tears. He kept driving until they felt like sand and his skin was covered in goose bumps, exulting in the mighty roar of the wind tearing through the car, drowning his thoughts, drowning out any other sound so that he didn't have to think. Didn't have to remember. He could just concentrate on the road, and the roar in his ears.

* * *

As far as Castiel knew, the police wanted to send him to Russia for a trial. Apparently that was where he had operated; a smuggler for a notorious international drug ring. Which was a frankly ridiculous notion to Castiel. He didn't even have a semblance of a Russian accent. It was heavily British, which had always contrasted deliciously with the soft consonants of Dean's quiet Southern Irish voice. They hadn't been able to send him anywhere however, since Castiel had no passport, no paperwork, no proof of who he was. So, they took him to Dublin, a bustling city that made Castiel's skin itch for the quiet of the cabin. He'd only been out in the city once, and that was just the short stretch between the police car and the station, but he heard it every night, outside his cell, where he'd been held in custody ever since. He heard women scream with laughter, stumbling about in high heels, heard men catcalling, cheering; sounds of freedom. It was so loud, every minute of every day. His heart ached for the sound of the sea at night. Dublin _was_ on the coast, he'd seen it briefly on the drive to the station, but his cell was right in the center of the city, and the traffic and sounds of life drowned out any chance Castiel had to steady his breathing with the gentle hiss of the waves. The time he didn't spend alone in his cell trying desperately to stop crying, he spent in a poxy, white room with an officer and a recorder. Every day was the same, day in and day out. Sometimes the officer changed, and occasionally the strength of the coffee too. But, Castiel found he hated coffee, and longed for a hot chocolate with marshmallows; like the ones Dean used to buy him before Christmas.

 _Dean._

The rattling of keys startled Castiel from his position on his cramped little bed, where he was lying, trying to count the dimples in the Styrofoam ceiling. The door dragged heavily.

"Krushnic. Let's go." Today's officer was a female, but she was no less severe than her male counterparts. He heaved his legs over the side of the mattress, and made to stand. They all called him _Krushnic_ here, and each time he heard that name he tasted the bitterness of bile rising in his throat. He didn't like that name. That name was everything he couldn't remember, and it was the reason he was no longer with his family in Castletownbere. He ran his hands over his face roughly, following the stocky officer to the questioning room, where he'd engage in the exact same conversation he'd been having for the last few weeks. The officer held the door open for him, and he nodded at her in thanks, before wandering in, holding his hands up so that they could be handcuffed to the table, which Castiel thought was extremely unnecessary. He wasn't a dangerous person, why couldn't they believe that?

A few minutes passed while Castiel picked at the dirt underneath his nails before he was joined by an officer holding two cups of coffee. Castiel didn't raise his eyes, not even when the second cup of coffee was placed in front of him, or when the officer leaned over the table to turn the recorder on. Castiel wondered halfheartedly how they expected anybody to drink a cup of coffee with their hands locked both to the table and to each other.

"Dmitri Krushnic, can you confirm that that is your name?" the officer spoke, his voice shaking a little. Castiel looked up then, and took in his young face. He couldn't have been much over 21.

"I'm not sure." Castiel replied, not really wanting to comply today. He found himself growing angry at the fact that nobody was listening to him, nobody understood, nobody cared.

"Please, sir…" the young man cleared his throat as if to say something else, but faltered.

"I suppose it's my name. You all say it is, so it must be." Castiel drawls, his voice strangely monotone.

"Thank you. What can you tell me about the group you worked for?"

"Nothing, same as yesterday." Castiel sighs. "Can I ask _you_ something?"

The officer looks perturbed, like he doesn't really know the protocol for this, but nods, "Of course."

"Why is this taking so long? Why am I still here? I can't tell you anything; I've been saying that from the off, and it's not going to change." Castiel tries to calm the anger rising in his chest; he doesn't want to come across as aggressive.

"I know this is taking a long time, Mr Krushnic, but we're having difficulties working out what the Russian police force know about your … colleagues. What their testimonies are, how many of them quote your name as part of their operation." He produces a wad of pictures then; this hasn't happened before.

"But, they did send through these photos. Why don't you take a look and see if any of them are familiar to you." He pushes the pile close enough to Castiel that he can move them aside with the tips of his fingers. Face upon face of unrecognisable men and women pass by. This is all a waste of time, why didn't they understand that?

His heart stops as he recognises a pair of thin-rimmed glasses, and he must have gasped because the officer is leaning towards him in interest.

"You recognise this man?"

"I don't… I recognise his glasses… from a dream I had." Castiel says, his voice quiet.

"That's David Jones; currently being held in his home town of Cardiff. He's the one that gave us your name and description. He says he was your superior."

 _Jones._ _Oh my god._

"No, this can't be… this isn't right." Castiel can hear himself babbling, can feel the panic rising again. _It was just a dream._

The officer looks smug, and Castiel just wants to cry.

"I think we're getting somewhere, don't you?" he smiles.

* * *

Dean's sat in the bathroom of the cabin, kneeling by the bath with his head resting on his arms, pretending like Castiel is still in there, tracing the lines of his face so delicately, like Dean were made of glass. He doesn't know how long he's been there for, but based on the sigh that comes from the doorway, he's guessing he's been there a long time.

Sam crouches beside his brother and winds his arms awkwardly about his middle.

"Dean…" he murmurs, not knowing what to say. He thinks Dean has gone into shock, and he's spiraling fast. Sam has been trying to hard to keep Dean away from the cabin, but every time Sam has to go to school he just _knows_ that's where Dean drifts back to. He's started taking his bike and riding the sizeable distance to and from school, since Dean no longer picks him up. Dean no longer does _anything_ anymore. Sam has to choke down the concrete lump building in his throat when Dean doesn't answer, doesn't even look at him. He just stares resolutely at the plughole, as if he wants to fall down it.

"Let's go to Bobby's." Sam offers, tightening his arms around Dean. When his brother makes no move to respond, verbally or otherwise, Sam stands and wraps his arms around the top of Dean's and pulls. Dean is like a heavy duvet, pliant in his hands, as Sam manages to drag him away from the bath. That seems to have woken him, as now he shrugs out of Sam's grip and attempts to stand, though his legs are shaking. Sam guesses he hasn't eaten today.

"Sam?" he whispers, believing his voice would break if he spoke any louder.

"Hey, Dean." Sam smiles, wrapping his arms around one of Dean's forearms and leading him out of the bathroom.

"Where… where are we going?" Dean's voice is so small that Sam wants to wrap him up and protect him from whatever is going on inside his head. He looks at his brother's sunken eyes; once the colour of spring grass. Now, they're bloodshot, and almost look grey for lack of shine. His eyes are surrounded by dark circles, and he just looks tired all the time. Sam wonders how much sleep he's managed to get since Cas was taken away.

Sam missed Cas with all his heart. Ever since he left, everything felt dull and flat and… quiet. Like the sea was on mute. There was just no noise in this cabin, nothing, except the shuffling of Dean's heavy footsteps. Sam sent a quick message to Bobby, asking him to come pick them up. He didn't trust Dean behind the wheel right now. He set Dean down on the sofa, sighing heavily as he collected Castiel's jumpers which were strewn all around the room; folding them and placing them neatly in the armchair. The brothers waited patiently in a heavy silence.

* * *

Castiel waited patiently to be summoned to court after his last interview. He reckoned it wouldn't be long. He sighed heavily, his head in his hands. He thought of Dean's lips, Dean's hands, the delicious sounds Dean made when they tumbled into Elysium, wrapped in each other's arms. He huffed a humourless laugh when he thought about how much time he'd wasted _not kissing Dean._ He should have spent every night with Dean curled up around him, he should have _kissed_ Dean on Christmas day and just never stopped. God, he wished he'd never stopped.

He found himself thinking about selkies. About the sealskin that he had buried with the Winchesters, the night before he was taken away. He laughed bitterly. It hadn't stopped him leaving after all.

Who was he now? Dmitri Krushnic; the Russian drug smuggler who spent half his life mastering the English accent and the other half of it delivering illegal substances to dealers around the world? The man who, according to the statements given by other members of the ring, refused to complete a job when they were on their way to Dublin. Apparently Castiel – _Dmitri –_ had thrown every last drug they had into the sea, in the midst of a panic. Apparently, he'd turned a 180 and just suddenly decided he wanted nothing more to do with the business. He wanted love, he wanted a family. Whether he really had done that or not, he'll never know now, but in Jones' statement, he said they'd elected to throw him overboard and leave him to drown, as they made their way back to basecamp for new supplies. He'd ruined the whole operation, and if he wanted nothing more to do with them, then so be it. Jones had said it was no great loss; Dmitri wasn't their best smuggler anyway. But, going by what the records said, they dumped him overboard in the middle of the night on a Monday. He was found by Dean on a Thursday. How could he have spent three days floating on the surface of the sea without dying? Literally how had he done that? Castiel groaned in frustration. How could it be that the more answers he got about who he was, the more questions he had? How could that possibly be? Did that explain why he couldn't remember anything? Would several days at sea do that to a person? He decided to lie back and fall into the green of Dean's eyes instead, trying to shut out everything but that.

* * *

Bobby had tried to engage Dean in some form of communication the whole time he sat in the back seat of his truck. But Dean just stared blankly out of the window at the rolling hills, not saying a single thing. Bobby cast his eyes to Sam, riding shotgun, and the boy just shrugged, dejected. Bobby hoped that being surrounded by his family would help Dean, but that was before seeing how deeply he'd sunk. He'd had to help Dean into the car when he arrived at the cabin; the poor guy genuinely couldn't stand on his own. He reminded Bobby of John after Mary died, and that broke his heart more than he cared to admit.

He remembered that day at the market, the day Castiel was pulled from Dean's grasp. Nobody had moved for what felt like an age. Ellen moved first; had gone to Dean and pulled him sideways into a hug which he'd collapsed into, his shoulders heaving, his hands pulling at her coat. Bobby had turned away from that, looking towards the sea because if he looked much longer at his broken boy, he would surely break right alongside him. That's when he spotted Castiel's tan coat floating on the surface, the tide pushing it towards the shore. Bobby had sighed, wading in to his knees to retrieve it. He'd balled it up and squeezed the water out of it, before tucking it into his own coat. He figured Dean really didn't need to see that at the time. He thought now that maybe Dean would like to have it, and decided that tonight he'd give it to him, in the hopes that it would heal the hurt a little. To have something that was so inherently _Cas._

Shutting the engine off, Bobby glanced in the rear-view mirror. Dean was still sat, his forehead pressed against the window, his eyes scanning right to left and back again, as if the view was still passing him by. He saw Sam's face crumple before he threw open the door and ran inside. Bobby ran his hand over his cheek, and sighed heavily.

"Up and at 'em, son." He said softly, not wanting to startle Dean. His eyes slowly dragged away from the window and settled on Bobby's face, and Bobby really had to try and not flinch when he saw how dead Dean's eyes were. He forced his face into a smile and continued,

"I think Ellen's made some pie for tonight. Cherry. Your favourite." Bobby chimed, his voice sounding more strained than sunny.

Dean's head bobbed several times, as his eyes slid away to his lap. He reached over to the handle and pushed the door open with what looked like deliberate effort. Bobby nearly jumped out of his skin when Dean murmured a "thanks, Bobby" into the stillness of the car, before heaving himself out of the door.

Jo was there to wind her arms around Dean's shoulders as soon as Bobby opened the door. She held him close, and didn't seem to mind when Dean's arms stayed limp at his sides.

"Oh, Dean…" she croaked when she saw Dean's eyes. That seemed to be a common reaction, Dean thought distractedly. Did he really look so bad? She took him by the hand and led him into the kitchen to see Ellen, who looked at him with sad eyes, before rubbing her hand up and down his arm a few times, squeezing his shoulder, before turning back to stirring dinner on the stove. Dean lowered himself into one of the seats around the plastic-covered table at the far end of the kitchen. He forced himself to take some deep breaths. He needed to speak, needed to talk to his family, tell them that he really would be okay. Even if he really didn't believe that.

"You okay, honey?" Ellen called over, bending to open the oven door, releasing the delicious hot smell of cooked pastry into the room. Dean closed his eyes and breathed it in.

"Yeah…" he sighed, "I'm okay."

Ellen looked up at him then, smiling a tight smile, "That's good, hon. Why don't you grab yourself a beer from the fridge?"

"Yes please." Jo chimed quietly from the doorway. Dean tried a smile, but stopped when he felt his lips shaking. He turned, and opened the fridge. The glass milk bottle toppled out and smashed on the floor, sending milk seeping across the floor, around his boots. He automatically bent, trying to gather the liquid in his hands, to try and clear it up. Jo's hands were suddenly there trying to bat his hands away, but Dean couldn't understand why she was doing that. He needed to clean it up.

"Jo, let me." He heard himself say, his voice cracking when he saw the milk just run back through his fingers.

"You're going to hurt yourself, Dean." She muttered, continuously pulling his hands away.

"No… no, it's okay, I can clean this up, just…" Dean babbled. The milk trickled down his wrists, making its way under the sleeves of the jumper he'd been wearing for the last five days. He felt his body collapse as his grief bubbled to the surface once more, pouncing on him, making him shrink back away from the mess on the floor. Ellen was there, picking up the glass, and Jo was lifting him into his chair again, mopping at his face, leaving her own tears unchecked. Dean's face grew hot and crumpled with the weight of his grief.

"Dean… Dean, please talk to us." Jo begged quietly.

But he just cried. He just sobbed. Why hadn't he told Cas that he loved him? _Why hadn't he just told him?_

* * *

The next morning, Castiel was awoken by the melodic jangling of the keys, as his cell was opened up once more.

"Krushnic. Come." Today's officer was a tall, lanky male, and he was smiling sadly. Why was he smiling? Castiel trailed out of the cell and followed the officer down the corridor imagining what court would be like when he got there. How many witnesses would be called to the stand to accuse him of something he doesn't remember doing? He dragged his hands through his hair and tried to push down the nausea that was bubbling in his stomach.

* * *

Dean didn't remember falling asleep, didn't remember eating, but he felt full for the first time in a few days. He closed his eyes again, breathing deeply through his nose, and out through his mouth.

"Hey, son." Bobby's voice floated towards him from the doorway. Dean lifted a hand to wave. He opened his eyes again, and took in his surroundings; he was sprawled on the sofa, under a soft blanket; a pleasant weight on his chest. He could hear hushed voices from the dining room through the open door, but he couldn't tell what they were saying.

"You looked so peaceful, we didn't want to wake you." Bobby smiled sadly, switching on a lamp as he came into the room to perch on the sofa by Dean's feet. He had something in his hands, but Dean couldn't see since his knees were in the way. He pushed himself up, so that Bobby had more room to sit with him. His eyes fell upon the thing in Bobby's hands and he heard himself whimper, knowing what it was instantly. Bobby's eyes followed Dean's and he smiled sadly.

"I picked it up for you… it floated to shore." Bobby said, sadly, holding it out to Dean. He wrapped his fingers around the soft, tan material, and brought it to his face. He sat still for a while, just breathing in that stupid coat. It smelt of the sea, which, even though it wasn't Cas' smell, it still reminded Dean of him. He felt a watery smile ghost his lips.

"Thank you." He whispered to Bobby. The two of them sat in silence for a while, before Dean let out a yawn.

"You get some more sleep, son. We're just in there if you need us." Bobby patted his shin as Dean sunk down, wrapping himself around Castiel's old coat, as he felt the blanket of sleep drape over him once more. He dreamed of Cas wading through the ocean towards him, beaming that beautiful smile of his. He longed for it to be real, with all his heart.

* * *

The next time he wakes, the lights are on, and there are voices talking hurriedly, hushed and Dean really wants to know what they're talking about because they sound close. When he opens his eyes, he wants to close them again, because he sees Cas standing there and he realises he must still be dreaming. Castiel was gone. He was arrested, taken away to god knows where to serve time for _illicit drug activity._ He wasn't even Cas. He was Dmitri. Whatever the fuck sort of name that was. No, Cas was gone. And he was sure when he opened his eyes again he'd be alone. But when he does, it's Castiel's eyes he sees, his face level with his, where he's kneeling by the sofa. He's grinning, and Dean can't understand what's happening. His eyebrows knit together, as he takes in the rest of the room, where he sees his family grinning and motioning towards Castiel. Dean risks one more look. He's still there. He reaches out and gasps when Castiel's hand reaches back and threads his fingers through Dean's.

 _Cas._

He leaps up from the sofa, and Castiel is laughing and crying all at once as he moves to stand, face to face with Dean.

"Well, say something!" Jo's voice breaks the silence before it threatens to drown them all.

"Cas?" he whispers, cupping his cheek. As soon as his hand touched Castiel's skin, he knew this was real. He let out a sob, and pulled Castiel fully into his chest, holding him so tightly that he'd never be able to leave him ever again. Castiel lets out another laugh, wrapping his arms just as tightly around Dean. They break apart, and Dean crashes his lips against Castiel's. It's sloppy and wet because they're both crying, and gasping for air, and it's a little embarrassing because the whole family are standing there watching them, but it's the best feeling Dean has ever felt. He feels Castiel grinning into the kiss, and pulls away to look at him again, because this can't be real, can it?

"Is it really you?" he asks, his voice shaking. Castiel just nods, trailing the back of his knuckles over Dean's cheek. He leans in, pushing his nose against Dean's.

"It's really him, son." Bobby offers from the beside Ellen, "they let him go when the idjits figured they didn't have enough scoop to lock him up."

Dean's eyebrows rose, and his eyes fell back to Castiel, who had gone very still in his arms.

"Say something." He whispers, "I have to know you're real."

Castiel raises his head, grinning from ear to ear, his voice cracking as he looks into Dean's eyes and says,

"Hello, Dean." Giggling breathlessly when Dean crashes their lips together again.


End file.
